Angry tears made her green eyes glow. “How do you know this?”
“I listen Freya. When you’re quiet people often forget you’re there. After the Docherty incident you were the hot topic of conversation in the village for weeks. I overheard Fred and Bill talking about it. I wanted more detail so I went to see Joanie one day when Fred was out. At first she refused to tell me anything but when I threatened to go to you directly she gave in. The GP who attended your mother was a huge gossip and soon everyone in the village knew about Father Logan’s indiscretion. When Rose died they all had one of their famous meetings in the pub and resolved to keep it from you.”
“Liar,” she yelled.
“No Freya. I bring you truth and light, finally. Logan’s blood runs through your veins, you are the bastard love child of a serial killer, the same killer who you watched murder your mother.”
Freya’s hands balled into fists and she furiously ground her teeth together, her rage getting her firmly between its teeth and shaking her. “John Macalister was my dad.”
“He was just some patsy your mother used to make herself look respectable and he paid for it with his life.”
“You can’t know Logan killed him.”
“When the boat and his fish-nibbled corpse were recovered from the bottom of the sea it was found the boat had been vandalised, causing it to sink. He was a very experienced sailor, he wouldn’t have done the damage himself. Blair Dubh wanted him and it claimed him. John Macalister never stood a chance.”
“If that was true I would have heard about it.”
“Pete Donaldson, who would be your father-in-law if he wasn’t lying in his own grave, investigated. He knew it had been tampered with but he couldn’t prove anything. As usual Logan got away with it.”
“Did Joanie tell you this too?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t the village keeping that one from you, it was your own mother, the one you’ve put on a pedestal. I don’t know why when she was a two-faced, manipulative whore.”
Freya’s temper finally snapped. She stalked up to him, green eyes hard and cold. “Why don’t you put that gun down so I can show you exactly what I think of you, you lying bastard. Who are you to come here and stick your nose into my family’s business?”
“I’m not lying Freya. You have a murderer’s blood inside you. Logan was the root of all evil in this village and his legacy lives on in you. That’s why this village is thrown into hell every time you return.”
“I can’t help who my father is, that’s if you’re right about that and even if you are it doesn’t mean I’m the same. Why don’t we start talking about your family?” she said, fury making her spit the words out in his face. “How would you like it if I started calling your mummy a slag or your dad a weak, spineless doormat? I bet they weren’t so fucking perfect.”
“This isn’t about my family.”
“Yes it is, they’re why you’re here executing whoever you like, because they died and it fucked you up.”
“How dare you? You don’t have the first fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t like it when it’s turned around on you, do you?” she said with a humourless grin.
“We’re discussing you, not me,” he barked.
“But you said I’m responsible for what’s happening now when actually it’s down to you. The village was quiet and peaceful until you came along. You weren’t raised in Blair Dubh yet here you are, killing people. Docherty wasn’t from this village either.”
“But you led him here. Logan killed because of your family, which led to Lynch’s crimes.”
“I didn’t force you to do this, I wasn’t even here when you started shooting innocent people and I don’t care what you say, they were innocent, unlike you.” She yelled the last words in his face. “You believe in God Graeme, well let me tell you murderers don’t go to God, they go the other way, down into hell with the likes of Logan and Lynch.” She scrunched her face up in disgust. “You’re just like every other fanatic who uses religion as an excuse to kill. You’re not on some sort of holy mission. You kill because you like it.”
Graeme stared back at her, confusion competing with rage. Freya watched the struggle take place in his eyes and she hoped she was finally getting through to him.
A punch to the face was her reply. Her head snapped to one side and she stumbled back a few steps, a hand to her cheek, shocked. She’d felt the brute strength of Graeme in that blow, which had been substantial. What was even scarier was that she got the feeling he’d been holding back.
“Just shut your nasty mouth. You really do have the devil in you,” he bellowed.
“If I’m so bad why did you ask me to come away with you?”
“I thought you could be saved Freya, I thought what you’ve endured in your life had cleansed you of inherited sin but now I see you’re just as rotten as Logan was. You cast your spell over me but I was too strong, I broke free. You have to be eradicated. It will never end until you are dead.”
“You won’t kill me Graeme, we’re two of a kind. If I’m dead you’ll feel alone again.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he screamed, whacking her in the face with the butt of the rifle.
Freya fell onto her back, seeing stars.
“You’ve spoilt everything,” he yelled.
Freya couldn’t reply, one side of her face puffing up, her tongue thick in her mouth. She released a low groan and attempted to sit up but her head spun and she flopped back to the ground.
He levelled the rifle at her. “On your knees.”
Freya couldn’t reply, her body refused to obey any of her frantic commands.
“On your knees, on your knees,” he shouted repeatedly, taking two steps closer to her, the gun never wavering from its target.
Finally Freya found herself able to move again and dragged herself to her feet.
“No,” she said, swaying slightly. “I will not cower while you blow my head off.” Tears streamed down her face as she saw the life she’d always dreamed of and had finally attained being snatched from her by this deranged idiot.
Graeme wanted to be sick. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not in all his wildest planning had he imagined having to execute Freya Donaldson. He didn’t want to do it, even though she’d made him angry, but he had no choice.
“On. Your. Knees,” repeated Graeme, sweat trickling down his spine. The storm was right above their heads now, the crack of thunder deafening. Lightning flooded through every gap in the stone, illuminating the room and he couldn’t help but admire Freya standing before him, strong and proud, facing him down so bravely. Despite how much she’d disappointed him he still respected her. How could he not? Everyone else he’d looked at down the barrel of this weapon had been screaming and begging or completely oblivious but she was unflinching.
“Why should I?” she said. “Either way you’re going to shoot me.”
He had to admit she had a point but he was tired of her disobedience. This time the rifle butt was slammed into her left knee. Freya screamed with pain and dropped, clutching her leg in agony. “You broke my fucking knee,” she cried seconds before another explosion of thunder.
He took aim at the centre of her forehead. “I asked you and you wouldn’t do it. You forced my hand, just like you’re forcing me to kill you.”
“Graeme, don’t do this. I have a son now, he’s only nine months old. Are you really going to take his mummy from him?” she said, her defiant front crumpling at the thought of her child. “What’s he ever done? Are you going to tell me he’s guilty of something?”
Sadly he shook his head. “No.”
“Then why are you punishing him? He’s crawling now and he’s started babbling. I was his first word.”
“Shut up,” he said, her words tearing down his resolve.
“I want to see him grow up Graeme. Me and Craig fought so hard to get our baby and now we have him. Please don’t take them away from me,” she said, breaking into
noisy sobs.
“Shut up,” he screamed, screwing his eyes tight shut and shaking his head.
“I know there’s still a part of you in there that can feel, that understands the pain of grief. You lost all your family. Are you going to do that to a little baby boy, put him through the agony that you went through?”
“I…” He broke off and hung his head. Every one of her words cut deep. He thought he’d made himself invulnerable to all types of sentiment but here was this woman tearing down the wall he’d spent years constructing between himself and the rest of the world and he was powerless to stop her. All he could think about was his twelve year old self struggling to cope in the big scary world alone, surrounded by uncaring and ignorant strangers. Was he capable of inflicting that pain on another human being?
Freya was starting to feel hopeful, a war was being waged inside Graeme and she hoped the side of sanity won. That hope soared higher when he released a heavy sigh and rested his chin on his chest. She didn’t dare utter a word or even breathe, afraid of upsetting his delicate balance of mind. Her knee steadily pulsed with pain, she could feel it swelling beneath her clothes, the fabric of her jeans tightening around it but that was the least of her worries.
She was startled when his head suddenly snapped up and he smiled viciously.
“Your son has a murderer’s blood in his veins too, so why should I care what becomes of him?”
“That is not his fault.”
“It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s as rotten as you are,” he said, eyes bright with the desire to kill, the desire Freya knew drove him. His ‘mission’ was just an excuse. She stared into the barrel sadly. There was nothing she could do to stop him from pulling the trigger. Her damaged leg meant she couldn’t even fight or run. She was out of options.
CHAPTER 25
Graeme was stunned when a weight ploughed into him from behind, knocking him sideways, the gun falling from his hands, sending it sliding down the aisle. Before he could recover Craig had slammed his fist into his face.
Graeme had trained himself long ago to take any pain doled out to him. When he hardly seemed to feel the blow Craig was a little thrown, so he punched him in the gut then attempted to flip him onto his front in order to twist his arms behind his back, but Graeme kicked him off.
Freya was trying to make a grab for the dropped rifle but her injured knee was impeding her progress and as pain shot straight up her leg her stomach roiled violently, threatening to evacuate all over the floor.
Craig, realising he wouldn’t get the upper hand in the fight, decided to go for the gun too. He’d thrown his shotgun aside when he’d seen how close Graeme had been to Freya. He couldn’t have discharged it without killing her too.
“No Craig, he’s got another gun,” Freya cried.
Craig dived for the rifle and snatched it up. Just as he turned to shoot a shot rang out. Freya screamed when her husband went still then started to sway on his feet, the front of his shirt stained red.
“Craig,” she rasped in a terrified voice.
He turned to look at her, face draining of colour before toppling backwards. For one horrible moment she thought he was dead because he was so still until he groaned, his hands going to the bullet in his stomach.
“Craig,” said Freya, pulling herself towards him, dragging her injured leg behind her.
Graeme stood over Craig, aiming the pistol at his head. “I’m not enjoying this.”
“Yes you are you sick bastard,” he managed to mutter.
As he cocked the pistol Freya threw herself over her husband, shielding him with her own body. “No, don’t. Kill me instead.”
“Freya, no,” said Craig, pale and shaking, attempting to push her away but he was too weak.
“You’ve no idea of the trouble he’s given me,” Graeme said, indicating Craig with the gun.
“It’s me you want Graeme,” said Freya. “I’m the bad influence on this village, not him. Kill me instead. Please.”
Graeme shrugged. “Fine, I’ll take you both.” His resolve started to waver as he gazed into her green eyes, which were a dazzling emerald and brimming over with tears. He wasn’t used to killing up close like this, he liked to be a distance away, so he couldn’t see his victim’s emotions.
“Then you’ll leave our son with no parents,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Let Craig live. He’s a police officer, you’re on the same side. If you must take someone then take me. I’m the one who’s got the criminal record, who brings on the dark things that happen in this village. Just don’t take Craig, I‘m begging you,” she cried, as the thunder snarled overhead.
Slowly he lowered the pistol. “Fine, have it your own way.”
“No,” croaked Craig, desperately trying to cling onto her arm as Graeme dragged her off him so he wouldn’t accidentally hit him too when he shot her. He pulled her along the floor, her left leg still not working properly.
“It’s okay,” she called to her husband. “This way Petie still has you.”
Craig pushed himself up to a sitting position and released a cry of agony. “Freya,” he rasped.
“Don’t move Craig, you’re badly injured.” The tears were pouring down her face uncontrollably now. “I love you.”
“You won’t be so upset about her death when you learn what she really is Donaldson,” said Graeme, eyes alight with glee as he looked down at Freya.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Sorry, he has the right to know what he married.” He looked back at Craig lying on the ground. “Her real dad is Father Alexander Logan. How do you like that?” he announced grandly, voice bouncing around the cavernous room, ricocheting off the walls, taunting Freya.
“I didn’t know,” she exclaimed, terrified she was going to lose Craig in more ways than one. “Not until he told me just before you got here.”
“It doesn’t matter…to me,” he said.
“It’s true, she didn’t know,” said Graeme. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she has evil running through her veins. You want to know Craig why there’s so much wickedness in Blair Dubh? Here’s the cause,” he said, grabbing Freya by the scruff of her jacket and hauling her upright, making her cry out in pain. “If I get rid of her it will all stop.” With that he let her drop back to the stone floor.
“You’re wrong,” rasped Craig, shaking. “Leave her alone.”
“This is why I was led here, to eradicate her,” continued Graeme, eyes filling with a feverish zeal. “If I kill her then I can leave the rest of the village alone because I will have destroyed the evil at the root. You can save all their lives Freya, including your husband’s, by sacrificing your own.”
“No,” croaked Craig, attempting to pull himself along the ground.
Unable to kneel Freya just sat on the floor, staring up at Graeme. “You’ve dragged this out long enough. Finish it.”
He nodded solemnly. “Just so you know, I don’t want to do this.”
“You feel you must, but it won’t change anything. Blair Dubh’s a law unto itself and all this has been for nothing.”
“You’re wrong. I’m ending it.” He raised the gun and aimed it at her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Just let me go to Craig to say goodbye,” she pleaded.
“No chance.” He hesitated as he stared into Freya’s green eyes, the pistol in his hand trembling slightly. “Stop looking at me.”
“You’ll look into my eyes as you kill me.”
“Stop looking at me,” he yelled, his words drowned out by a crack of thunder. The wind howled around the church, seeking a way in, finding many entrances through the gaps in the old stone.
“Freya,” said Craig, his voice growing weaker.
“Just stay still, please Craig,” she called when she spied him attempting to make his way towards her. She looked back at Graeme. “What are you waiting for?”
Graeme shuffled from foot to foot, eyes wide and maniacal, hair standing on end. �
�You will not look at me.”
He lowered the gun slightly and drew back his fist to punch her, desperately needing those deep green eyes off him. As he did two shocking things happened. Freya rolled out of the way and punched him in his injured arm. He cried out with surprise and pain, dropping the pistol. She pushed herself up to her feet, limping on her good leg. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied Craig roll, grab the rifle and jump to his feet.
“You tricked me, both of you” screamed Graeme, cradling his injured arm, which had started to bleed again. “You’re not badly hurt…”
“The same thing worked on Docherty so I figured it would on you,” she retorted, malice shining out of her eyes.
“I remembered that little trick she pulled too,” said Craig, advancing on him with the rifle. “You only nicked me again Graeme. Every time you try to kill me you fuck it up.”
Freya managed to retrieve the pistol and aimed it at him, putting the majority of her weight on her good leg.
Graeme was appalled to realise he was unarmed while two people aimed his own guns at him. His stomach dropped when he saw the little red dot, the one that had always been his friend, hovering over his own heart.
The resolve in both their eyes caused him to hold up his hands. “Alright, take it easy.”
“Don’t you tell us to take it easy you murdering shit,” hissed Freya. Her hands shook and pain throbbed in her knee but her gaze was steady. “Craig, are you okay babe?”
“Fine,” he replied steadily, gaze locked on Graeme.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” said Graeme, “either of you. You said it yourself Freya, you’re not a killer and neither is Craig, his job is to help people.”
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 21
