Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3)

by Heather Atkinson

  “You’re just like the rest of them - weak, decadent. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am Freya, I thought you were different, like me.”

  “I am if you’ll listen.”

  “I won’t listen to more lies. I’ve heard enough. On your feet.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  He leapt up with the agility of a cat, snatched up the rifle and pointed it at her. “On your feet.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Slowly Freya stood, her knees going weak as she gazed down the barrel of the gun. She forced herself to look past the weapon to Graeme’s furious eyes scowling at her from the other end. “Are you going to shoot me?” she said, her voice quavering.

  “Not yet. Move.”

  “Which way?”

  “Back into the nave.”

  The mere thought of having to deal with Logan’s presence as well as Graeme turned her blood to ice. Panic rose to claim her again, making her shaky and light-headed. “I can’t go in there, I won’t.”

  “If you don’t walk in willingly I’ll put a bullet in each of your knees and drag you.”

  Tears prickled her eyes. She knew he would shoot her, he thought she’d betrayed him.

  “Please Graeme…”

  “Move.”

  “Graeme, if I’ve offended you I’m truly sorry.”

  “You will be. Get moving.”

  He shoved her roughly in the back with the butt of the rifle, causing her to trip and she just managed to retain her balance by gripping onto the desk, her fingers leaving smudges in the thick layer of dust.

  They returned to the nave, Freya careful to maintain a steady walking pace, afraid of agitating him further and giving him a jumpy trigger finger. She hadn’t felt this helpless since she was a child being torn from her home. If Graeme had been armed with a knife the odds would have been evened up a bit but how could she fight someone with a gun? He could blow her head off before she got anywhere near him.

  A whisper to her left stopped her in her tracks. When she looked there was no one there.

  The butt of the rifle was brought down between her shoulder blades, knocking her onto all fours. Any hope she’d harboured of establishing a rapport with Graeme vanished entirely.

  “Why have you stopped?” he yelled savagely.

  “We’re not alone.”

  Graeme’s head snapped round, scanning the large, empty room with the night vision goggles. “Yes we are. You’re just trying to trick me again,” he said before the back of his hand connected sharply with her face. “Now get up.”

  As he leaned over her his long coat fell open and she spied the pistol holstered in his belt. She also noticed the dried blood and bandage on his left upper arm. Briefly she considered making a grab for the gun but thought that wouldn’t end well for her.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled and Freya felt her fight returning. Being hit and pushed around never failed to get her angry but she had to control her temper, he was still armed.

  The rifle was levelled at her face.

  “Get up,” he spat.

  Slowly she got to her feet, Graeme’s suspicious eyes riveted on her.

  “Turn around.”

  Her heart pounded as she slowly turned her back to him, convinced he was going to shoot her. Instead the barrel of the rifle was jammed into the middle of her back and was used to propel her forwards. Freya assumed they were leaving the church, he seemed to be pushing her towards the door.

  “Just here,” he said, grabbing her shoulder with one hand, forcing her to stop in the middle of the aisle. He released her and retreated three paces. “Now turn around.”

  She slowly turned and found herself looking directly down the barrel of the gun.

  Graeme’s hard look fell away and he suddenly appeared close to tears. “Why did you have to come here tonight?”

  “I came for Craig and Nora.”

  “You should have stayed away, you would have been safe. Jesus,” he yelled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and starting to pace before her, shaking his head. “You’ve put me in an impossible position Freya. If only you’d agreed to come away with me. It was the only way I could save you.”

  “I did agree. What I won’t do is shoot my husband. I don’t understand why you want him dead, he’s a good man, he fights evil, like you. He stopped Martin Lynch, he made everyone realise Logan was a monster and he arrested Docherty and Mad Mandy. You’re on the same side.”

  “I respect Craig, really I do. He’s an excellent officer, despite how he’s pissed me off tonight, but I can’t think of another way for you to prove yourself to me.”

  “Isn’t abandoning my family enough?” she cried. “You know what they mean to me.”

  Freya physically jumped when a bright white light filled the room, illuminating the large stained glass windows, accompanied by a huge crack of thunder.

  “We all have to make sacrifices Freya and he is yours.”

  “I’m not doing it,” she screamed.

  Her voice died away with the roll of thunder, leaving one pure moment of absolute silence as he stared at her in utter shock. He’d just had an epiphany, one that rocked the very foundations of everything he’d believed about her. The next flash of lightning drew him back to his senses and he jumped into action.

  She backed away when he advanced on her.

  “Now I know why you came here tonight,” he roared over the bellow of thunder. “You came because you’re part of it.”

  “Part of what?”

  “The Blair Dubh evil,” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips as he changed before her very eyes, degenerating into some terrible monster. “And I thought you were a victim. I was even going to tell you my real name, the name I’ve not used since I left the army. It all makes sense now. You’ve dazzled me, tried to lead me astray from my true path with your wiles, just like your own mother did to Logan. Well I won’t be seduced so easily. It’s all down to you, everything. You’re the cause of it all.”

  She watched with mounting horror as his finger squeezed the trigger, the effect pushing all the air out of her body. She was so certain she was going to die that she whispered her goodbyes to her husband and son.

  Craig stumbled around in the dark frantically searching for Freya but, even with the help of the night vision goggles, he couldn’t see a sign of life anywhere. He’d run through the perimeter of the woods searching for her but all had been quiet in there. A sharp crack of thunder overhead and the strong breeze announced the storm was getting nearer, which didn’t hearten him. The shotgun was growing increasingly heavy and it was becoming difficult to hold in his hot, sweaty hands.

  Acting on instinct he was heading towards the castle instead, peering into the trees as he ascended the hill hoping to see movement, light, anything that might indicate his wife was still alive but there was nothing, not even an animal or a solitary bird. Every living thing with a bit of sense was taking shelter somewhere from the tempest that was about to begin. He was the only one daft enough to be wandering about out here.

  He raced into the castle and looked around, but it was cold and empty. He could hear water roaring into the oubliette that Freya had almost died in, filling it up as the gathering storm disturbed the sea. They weren’t here. For all he knew Graeme could have murdered her and the armed officers already.

  “No,” he said out loud, his voice bouncing back at him from the ancient stone. He wouldn’t allow himself to think like that.

  Graeme had a soft spot for Freya, Craig recalled how he’d stared at her, how concerned he’d been about her. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her if he came across her? But she was Blair Dubh born and bred and it seemed he was intent on eradicating every last one of them. Not knowing what his motivation was for the massacre he couldn’t form a definite theory but he had to cling onto the hope that Graeme’s tenderness for her would keep her safe. Freya and the armed officers should have made it out of the woods by now but there was no sign of them, which meant they
were either lost or dead. He couldn’t imagine Freya getting lost in those woods, she knew them too well, even in the dark. That meant they’d either had an accident or Graeme had found them. If he was feeling trapped and weakened it would be logical for him to take a hostage because there was no way he could escape from this. Yes, Freya was alive, he was certain.

  He jogged out of the castle and stared down the hill, trying to tame his frantic thoughts. Where could they be?

  Graeme would want to regroup and he’d need somewhere isolated and contained to control Freya. Plus the storm was about to break, which meant he’d want shelter, somewhere with an elevated view of the village so he could see anyone approach.

  Craig’s eyes darted between the old parochial house and the church. Either of those buildings would do.

  He raced down the hill and sped into the graveyard, dodging the gravestones that threatened to trip him up at every turn then paused to survey the area. He could actually see the storm moving up the coast towards them, lightning exploding in the heavy clouds. A few seconds later the growl of thunder was carried to him on the increasing wind, which agitated the black waters below. It was stiflingly warm, his t-shirt stuck to his back with sweat, damp hair plastered to his face. The storm was almost on top of them. The village below was in complete and utter darkness. It looked like a ghost town but it was safe for now because the sniper was up here somewhere.

  Craig couldn’t think clearly, his mind whirled round and round, unable to settle on one definite course of action. He could spend all night stumbling about up here in the dark and achieve nothing, by which time Freya could be dead.

  His fury and desperation spilled over. “You’re not taking her,” he yelled at the village in general. “She is not yours.”

  The wind snatched his words away, refusing to give him even the satisfaction of a good shout. He turned and found himself standing by Father Logan’s now unmarked grave. Even in the dark he could still place it.

  “Fuck,” he yelled, stumbling backwards when he saw the two dead bodies lying on top of it. In the flashes of lightning the scene was nightmarish, the back of what he took to be the man’s head cracked and bloody, but it was the face of the girl lying beneath him that was worse, peering over her dead friend’s shoulder. Her mouth was still wide open in the scream that had been silenced when the bullet had been fired into her skull, her glassy eyes bulging, the dead orbs reflecting the seething sky.

  “Who are you?” he murmured, staring at them in amazement. He didn’t recognise the girl so they weren’t local to the village. Her skirt was pushed up so he surmised they’d come up here for a romp on a serial killer’s grave. Unfortunately Graeme must have come across them. Craig could just imagine how angry he would have been about a lewd act being committed on holy ground, but what the teenagers had been up to wasn’t as bad as double murder.

  Craig tried to back away from the bodies, unable to look at the terror in the poor girl’s eyes for a second longer but the wind howled around him, nudging him forward.

  “You’re not taking Freya too,” he told the grave solemnly. “She’s going to live a long and happy life with me, I promise you that.”

  The wind screamed around him as the storm finally arrived. Another, more vivid flash of lightning made the girl’s eyes light up in a disturbing parody of life.

  Craig turned his back as dread ran through him. Shadows raced all around him, darting in and out of the stones, getting closer…

  His head snapped up when he spied movement in the corner of his right eye. Turning he saw the tree beside the church tapping on the stained glass window, like a big pointing hand. He squinted, attempting to see inside but the sky was split with lightning, which momentarily doused the area with brilliant white light. There was a crack of thunder then the land was plunged into blackness once more. Just before the light died he managed to spy what he assumed was a figure inside the church.

  He had no idea who or what it was but it was all he had to go on so he tore a path towards it, fighting against the buffeting wind that seemed determined to stop him.

  He approached the building cautiously. If Freya was in there with the gunman he didn’t want to spook him and panic him into doing something rash. He raced across to the building and stood to one side of the windows, attempting to see in. He was just about tall enough to peer inside. Through the night vision goggles he glimpsed movement but who or what it was he just couldn’t tell.

  He checked the shotgun was primed and ready then crept round to the rear door of the church, straining to hear the slightest sound, praying he would hear Freya’s voice but if there was any noise it was drowned out by the thunder. The only way he was going to find out what was in there was by going inside. Knowing his luck it would be a bloody bat.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sheet lightning lit up the interior of the church, highlighting Graeme’s face. The man looked demented - gentle features contorted into a hate-filled grimace, eyes manic, strings of drool dripping down his chin. This was the real man, the product of what had happened to him as a child. The gentle man who had been so concerned for her didn’t really exist. He was just a shade of his childhood hopes and dreams.

  “I’m not a victim because I don’t allow myself to be,” Freya told him. “This village has tried to kill me three times and three times it’s failed.”

  “Because you’re in league with it.”

  “No, because I’m stronger than it. You of all people should understand that. Your village tried to claim you too and you wouldn’t let it because you have the same strength I possess. We’re not victims, we’re survivors. I will never be a victim, even if you pull that trigger I will not be one of your victims because I refuse to be.”

  “If you’re dead you’ll have no choice.”

  “You’re going to murder me like this, are you?” she said, relieved to feel the anger flooding her veins. It was much better than despair. “God’s avenging angel, is that what you are?”

  “Yes. I was spared for a purpose and that purpose is to eradicate evil.”

  “You were spared once. Three times I was spared,” she yelled, jabbing a finger in her chest. “If once makes you an angel what does three times make me? I help people for a living every day of my life, I’ve made a career out of it. What do you do except murder the innocent.”

  “They weren’t innocent, none of them. They were all guilty of sin.”

  “What sin were Fred and Joanie guilty of? And Adam? He was just a boy.”

  “Adam was the lapdog of a serial killer and Fred and Joanie weren’t as innocent as everyone thinks.”

  “None of them were guilty of what you are. You’re nothing but a dirty murderer wrapping his crimes up in righteousness and you are going to hell for what you’ve done.”

  His lips curled into an amused smile. “Innocent were they? I know a secret you don’t know,” he said in a strange sing-song voice that was almost childlike as he continued to pace, circling her.

  “What secret?” she said, turning on the spot to keep him in her line of sight.

  The rifle was aimed at her forehead. “About your father.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s not who you think he is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His face cracked into a predatory smile. “You really don’t have a clue.”

  She sighed in annoyance. “About what?”

  “Let me tell you a story. Many years ago there lived a woman named Rose. She was young, beautiful and sweet but she let evil into her heart, fell for its dark good looks and tall, commanding presence. When little Rose found herself impregnated with the devil’s seed she panicked because she had no ring on her finger. John Macalister, her childhood friend, had loved her for years and wanted to protect both her and her reputation from the monster. So he married her and claimed the child as his own. But the monster knew what had been done and resented it so he drilled a hole in our hero’s boat and watched him drown from his hous
e of lies and hypocrisy.”

  Light strobed through the building, lighting Graeme up like an actor on a stage.

  “What?” whispered Freya, the word drowned out by a huge clap of thunder.

  “The monster hated his spawn because she reminded him of his own weakness, of his lust for flesh, even though she was formed from his own flesh. He also hated how Rose loved her. He wanted her to love no one but him. When Rose told him she was carrying another of his children he decided he could take no more so he plotted to end them both. Poor Rose and her unborn child were buried in the churchyard, given back to the earth. He planned to do the same to his own spawn but she woke up and followed him up to the churchyard. His spawn witnessed his depravity first hand and saw him for what he really was but his spawn was loud and fast and woke the entire village before the monster could get his hands on her and bury her alongside her mother.”

  Freya frantically shook her head. “You’re lying.”

  “Father Logan was just that Freya. A father. Your father.”

  “You’re lying,” she screamed as more lightning flashed around them, followed by a clap of thunder. “You’re fucking lying.”

  “I’m not Freya. Joanie, who you insist was so innocent, delivered you herself when your mum went into labour and the village was cut off by a storm.”

  “Yes I know that.”

  “Your mum was ill after the birth, she had a fever. She told Joanie about her affair with Logan, she was certain she’d die and she said you should know the truth when you were older. Joanie was half-inclined to believe it was all just ramblings, a result of the fever. But Father Logan burst into the room and kissed Rose full on the lips. He was in a state, convinced she was going to die. He prayed to God to let her live, he begged him. John Macalister let it all happen, he didn’t feel it was his place to interfere. Logan knelt at her bedside for nine hours, clutching his rosary and whispering words to the heavens. Not once did he look at you. He hated you even at birth because Rose kept asking for you, wanting to hold you, but she was far too weak. He couldn’t stand it that she loved you and he blamed you for almost killing her. Joanie and John were afraid to leave you alone with him, they were convinced he’d smother you if given the chance. His prayers must have worked because Rose made a full recovery the very next morning. The whole village knows who your real father is Freya and they kept it from you. A conspiracy of silence against you. Still think they’re so innocent?”