by Sam Short
The collision came quickly, and not as violently as Millie had expected. She waited for the pain, wondering if her adrenaline was acting as natural morphine, and held her breath, becoming aware that she was still moving. The clamping of strong hands, one on the back of her neck, and one on the curve at the top of her calf muscle, persuaded her to breathe again, her breath leaving her in a gasp of shock.
She opened her eyes, and looked up at George, his open-faced helmet framing his expression of rage, and his eyes an ebony black, in stark contrast to the long white fangs protruding from beneath his top lip.
George landed with a soft thud, and lowered Millie onto the grass verge, kneeling next to her, his eyes becoming hazel again, and his fangs retreating. He ripped his helmet from his head, and moved his face close to Millie’s. “Are you alright?” he said. “Millie? Please be alright!”
Blinking twice, Millie gave a gentle nod. “You saved me,” she said.
“Are you okay?” demanded George, his hands sliding gently along Millie’s legs, feeling for injuries.
“I’m fine,” said Millie. “You leapt through the air and saved me. That was some move.”
“Never mind that,” said George, the smell of his leather jacket and aftershave in Millie’s nostrils. “That nurse,” he said. “It’s not like that. I promise. It’s you I —”
Millie put a finger to his lips, his breath warm on her hand. “Just kiss me, George,” she said. “We don’t have time. We can talk later.”
Colour rising in his cheeks, George lowered his face to Millie’s, his hands on her shoulders and his knees against her thigh. As his lips brushed Millie’s, she closed her eyes and returned his kiss, wondering what the acrid smell was that was beginning to mask the spicy scent of the vampire’s aftershave.
Millie opened her eyes as a loud thumping bang shook the ground beneath her, and the crackling sound of fire reached her ears. “What the —” she said, pushing George away.
George leapt to his feet. “It’s the car,” he said, turning to face the billowing black smoke cloud which was rising from the opposite side of the road.
“We were kissing while a man was trapped in a burning car!” said Millie, allowing George to help her up.
“We were in shock!” said George, rushing towards the crashed car, slowing as he neared it, and shielding his face with both arms. “It’s hot!” he said, his eyes blackening and long fangs sliding into position.
A panicked shout came from the burning car, the flames enveloping the bonnet and beginning to climb the thick trunk of the tree which the vehicle had collided with. The windows blackened by smoke, it was impossible to see Chester, but his shouts of fear increased in intensity as Millie reached George’s side.
“Can a vampire walk through fire?” shouted Millie, as George approached the car, his arms still shielding his face.
“No!” he said, inching nearer to the inferno. “But it’s okay. I’ll take the pain. I’m not leaving him to die!”
“I’m not going to let him die, either,” said Millie, the heat of the flames pricking her cheeks. “But let me deal with the fire! We’ll need your strength when the flames are out. The car’s mangled, there’s no way the door will open!”
George nodded. “Be careful, Millie! If you can’t do it, step away. I’ll fight my way through the flames. I’ll heal quickly if I’m burnt. Don’t worry!”
“I can do it!” said Millie, lifting her hands as she took slow steps towards the car, the flames spreading to the doors, and the windscreen succumbing to the heat — a tortured creaking sound rising above the vicious crackling of hungry flames, as it began to crack.
“Help me!” came the fearful pleading of Chester Harris, the car rocking as he struggled.
Finding the ball of energy in her chest, Millie reached deep within herself, her arms becoming cold as her magic rushed towards her hands, bursting from her quivering fingertips in a bright flash of blue light, which arched through the space between her and the car, the flames hissing in protest as tendrils of magic wrestled with them, wrapping each tongue of hot orange in an icy cold death grip.
George leapt into action as Millie’s magic held the flames at bay, more bursting into life as others gave in to the cold energy which danced between them. Grasping the top edge of the driver’s door in his fingertips, George winced and gave a short cry of pain, ignoring the heat, and wrenching the door from its fittings, a loud groaning of bending metal joining Chester’s cries for help.
Tossing the crumpled door aside, George reached into the car and dragged Chester Harris from what had almost become his funeral pyre. He carried him a safe distance from the vehicle, and placed him on the ground, the groaning man’s hair singed, and his face and arms black with a thick layer of soot.
Chester Harris looked up at Millie, his eyes frightened. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never meant to do it. Any of it. It was an accident.”
Grabbing her phone from her pocket, Millie dialled nine-nine-nine. “Try and stay calm, Chester,” she said. “You’re injured. An ambulance will be here soon. There’ll be plenty of time for talking, later.”
Chapter 22
Sergeant Spencer hurried along the hospital corridor, with Judith close behind him, both still dressed in their Bexington Zoo t-shirts. “Are you okay, Millie?” he said, his stomach straining at his t-shirt. “Judith and I have been so worried.”
“I’m fine,” said Millie. “I’m sorry I had to contact the zoo, but both of your phones were off.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Judith, gripping Millie in a fierce hug. “The man who came looking for us, found us in the gift shop. We were just about to leave.”
“Were you getting your t-shirts for next year?” smiled Millie.
Judith rolled her eyes and zipped up her hoodie. “It’s going to be so embarrassing next year,” she said, lowering her voice. “They have a new machine in the gift shop. You can add a photo from your phone to your t-shirt — they print them out while you wait. When we were told by the staff member that we had to come straight to the hospital, the lady in the shop promised she’d forward them on to the police station for us when they’d finished being printed. I was kind of hoping we would never see them.”
“What’s that?” said Sergeant Spencer. “What were you hoping for, Judith?”
“I was just telling Millie about the t-shirts,” said Judith. “I was telling her that I’m happy that they’re being forwarded on to us.”
Sergeant Spencer smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “It was very kind of the lady to offer. I’d have been gutted if we’d missed out on them. They’re brilliant t-shirts!”
“Yes,” said Judith. “Brilliant.” She took a seat next to the coffee machine. “Did they say when we’d be allowed in to see him?” she asked.
“Soon,” said Millie. “They’ve begun treatment on his burns and they’re moving him to a private room. It shouldn’t be too long.”
“And you and George are both fine?” said Judith.
“We’re both okay,” said Millie, sitting next to her friend. “George was burned, but he healed within five minutes. It was amazing.” She smiled. “He was a great help. And now he’s gone to Chester and Jill’s house to stop Harry from disturbing what I think might be Jill’s mother’s remains. He’s had a look in the garden, and he’s found a large bag in the spot the dog was digging in.” She paused for a moment. “He saved my life, you know? He caught me in mid-air when I was thrown from the bike. He was like… Superman.”
“I suppose that makes up for his… whatever it is he has going on with his blonde bombshell,” said Judith.
“It’s not like that,” said Millie. “I don’t know who she is, yet, but George promised me it wasn’t what I thought it was, and I believe him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready, but I get the impression that she’s important to him in a different way than we thought.”
“So, you two are friends again?” said Judith.
“You could s
ay that,” said Millie, heat in her cheeks.
“Wait!” said Judith. “Something happened! Did you kiss him, Millie Thorn?”
“Hold on,” said Millie, getting to her feet. “There’s a doctor coming. The doctor who treated Chester.”
“Saved by the bell,” said Judith. “I know you kissed him!”
“You can go in, now,” said the doctor, snaking a stethoscope around her neck. “But please don’t excite him. He’s still very poorly. He was badly burned, and he suffered smoke inhalation. Oh, and his wife is in the family waiting room. I told her she’s not allowed in to see him unless the police agree to it.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Sergeant Spencer, approaching from the vending machine he’d been standing next to, a half-eaten bar of chocolate in his hand. “I’ll speak with the wife myself.”
The doctor looked Sergeant Spencer up and down. “Undercover, are you?” she said, attempting to hide a smile.
“It’s my zoo visiting outfit,” said Sergeant Spencer. He patted the pocket of his shorts. “But I always carry my police notebook, so you could technically say I’m undercover.”
“Well, it’s a very nice outfit, Sergeant,” said the doctor, turning her back. “Chester Harris is in room eighty-seven. Next door to the last suspect you came here to question. The poor man who’s married to a biscuit baking machine.”
Only Chester’s eyes and a small portion of his mouth and nose were visible beneath the swathes of bandages which covered his head, chest and arms. The machine next to his bed beeped every few seconds, and a drip supplied antibiotics to the back of his hand.
Millie smiled at him. “How are you?” she asked, taking a seat next to the bed.
“Alive,” said Chester, his voice cracking. “Thanks to you. I don’t know what you and that young man did, or how you got me out of that car, but you saved my life.”
“After you tried to run us off the road,” said Millie.
“I’m sorry,” said Chester. “I was panicking. Are you both okay?”
“You’re lucky we’re both alive,” said Millie. “The motorbike is ruined, but we’re okay.”
“And my wife?” said Chester. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in the waiting room, Mister Harris,” said Sergeant Spencer. “You can’t see her until we’ve spoken to her, and if you’re going to tell us what Miss Thorn thinks you’re going to tell us, then I don’t think she’ll want to see you ever again. Only in court, on the day you get sent down for a very long time.”
“I’m not saying a word to anybody until my wife is here,” said Chester, a harsh rasp to his voice.
“We can wait,” said Sergeant Spencer. “You’ll speak to us eventually, whether it’s tomorrow, next week or next year.”
Chester attempted to prop himself up on his elbows but sank back down to the mattress with a groan of pain. “Miss Thorn couldn’t see my face properly when I was laying on the side of the road, or while she was in the ambulance with me, due to all the soot that was covering me,” he said. “But what’s beneath these bandages is not pretty. One ear is going to be removed when I’m strong enough to have surgery, the other one resembles pork crackling, my nose has no flesh on the bridge and my throat and lungs are scorched.
“My fingers have no feeling in them, and my scalp requires a skin graft, taken from my buttock. The painkillers are helping, but I realise that my life as I know it, is over. I know I’m going to prison, and I know I’ve lost the only person who means anything to me… my wife. If you think I’m going to speak to the police before I speak to my wife, who my confession concerns the most, then you are sadly mistaken. I don’t care about living, Sergeant. I certainly don’t care about providing you with a statement.”
Sergeant Spencer blew out a long sigh. “Okay, Chester,” he said. “I’ll go and speak with her. I’ll ask her if she wants to hear your confession.”
Chester groaned, and his head slumped to the side, blood beginning to seep through the portion of bandages covering his nose. “Thank you,” he grunted.
Sergeant Spencer wasn’t gone long, and when he returned, Jill Harris shuffled ahead of him, her head bowed, and a handkerchief clutched in her fist. She looked at the man in the bed, her eyes red and her cheeks wet with tears. “Did. You. Kill. My. Mother?” she said, standing at the foot of the bed.
“Jill,” said Chester. “I want to tell —”
The bed shook as Jill slammed her fist into the space between Chester’s feet. “Did you kill my mother?” she screamed.
Chester groaned. “I’m sorry, Jill. I’m so, so sorry. It was an accident. I couldn’t take her mood swings anymore, and she refused to get medical help for them. You thought she had bipolar, but I think it was something worse. She was awful to me, Jill. She wasn’t nice to me, not at all — she was only nice to me when you were around. When she had to pretend. She hated me, and one day I snapped. We had no money, we were both stressed — living in that tiny house with your mother, and she wouldn’t stop! She wouldn’t stop telling me how terrible I was! I’m sorry!”
“How did you kill my mother?” said Jill, her voice flat.
“It was an accident, it —”
Jill’s face reddened, and she slammed her fist into the bed again. “How did you kill my mother?” she shouted, spittle flying from her mouth.
“I drowned her,” murmured Chester. “While she was taking a bath. You were out with your friends, and when you came home I pretended I didn’t know where she was. I packed her suitcase and burned it along with her passport on the waste ground near the marshes.”
“And you buried my mother’s body in our garden?” said Jill, both hands forming tight fists.
“No,” said Chester. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do something so terrible! I buried her on the beach. In the sand dunes.”
“A metal detectorist found her ring, Mrs Harris,” explained Millie. “And when I saw the messages in French at the bottom of her letters from the Canadian gentleman, I put two and two together.”
“Don’t call me Mrs Harris, please,” said Jill. “I no longer want a murderer’s surname. Call me Jill. Jill Richards, the same surname my mother carried when she was murdered by this pig.”
“Okay, Mrs Richards,” said Millie.
“Miss Richards,” said Jill. She stood up straight and stared at the bandaged man in the bed. “No wonder the police couldn’t find my mother in Canada,” she said. “But how did you know the Canadian police wouldn’t be able to find the gentleman she loved?”
“I didn’t, Jill!” said Chester. “I didn’t plan it! It was an accident! It was a coincidence that the man she loved had left his wife! Maybe he didn’t love your mother at all, and maybe she didn’t love him. We surmised all the stuff about them being together because you and the police thought she was in Canada! She never was, Jill. She never was. She was always here, at the beach.”
“You cold, cold bastard,” said Jill. “I wish those flames had given you a lingering death and dragged you to hell with them.”
“You don’t mean that, Jill,” said Chester. “You don’t know what she did to me! She was horrible, always telling me I wasn’t good enough for you, and always telling me that you’d leave me when you realised it!”
“And she was right, wasn’t she, Chester?” said Jill. “On both points.”
“I love you, Jill,” said Chester. “I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me!”
“Are the bones that Harry dug up today in the garden, my mother’s bones?” said Jill, her legs giving way beneath her momentarily. “Was the bone that my little dog dragged into the kitchen a part of my own mother’s skeleton?”
Sergeant Spencer’s pen danced across his notebook as the conversation unfolded, his eyes flicking between Millie and Judith, and his face locked in an expression of sadness. “Is this too much for you, Jill?” he said. “Do you need a break? A cup of tea, maybe?”
“No thank you, Sergeant,” said Jill. “I don’t want a cup of tea.” She stared
at her husband. “What I do want to know is if that bone on my kitchen floor belonged to my poor mother.”
Chester shifted his weight, giving a gasp of pain as he moved his arms. “I didn’t see what Harry brought into the kitchen, Jill,” he said. “But yes. It was probably one of your mother’s bones. I’m sorry. I transferred them from the sand dunes late on Tuesday night. When I told you I couldn’t sleep and was going for a long drive.”
“And you told me you couldn’t sleep because the curry I’d made you was too spicy!” said Jill, “You told me it had given you acid. I felt awful, thinking of you driving the streets because of my cooking. I didn’t get to sleep for almost an hour! And while I was feeling guilty, you were digging up my poor mother’s remains and dragging them across town so you could bury them in our garden!”
“The garden was a temporary measure!” said Chester. “I wasn’t thinking straight! I was going to move them again. I promise. I’m not such a terrible man, Jill!”
Jill steadied herself with a hand on the foot-rail of the bed. “You’re removed from reality, Chester,” she said. “I don’t know what to say to you.” She sighed. “Why did you dig my mother up, Chester? Why did you move her from the sand dunes to our garden?”
Millie knew the answer, but she stayed quiet, wanting nothing more than to stand up and give Jill a hug, but aware that the poor woman needed to hear what her husband had to say. She gave her a reassuring smile instead, knowing that when Chester revealed the true extent of the crimes he’d committed, her life was going to be irrevocably altered.
Chester gave a rasping cough and reached for the glass of water next to his bed. Judith picked it up for him, and placed the straw between the small gap in the bandages around his mouth as he took slow sips. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at his wife. “I moved her remains because of that dinosaur skeleton that was found,” he said. “I knew they’d start digging around, and I knew the storm had shifted a lot of sand. I was worried that her remains would be revealed. I didn’t want to get found out, Jill! I didn’t want to go to jail! I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
