Gated II: Ravenhill Academy
Page 25
Paterson was limping along behind without being much use and Brendon could feel that he didn’t have much left in the tank.
The cottage was a godsend, or at least he hoped so. He lumbered them both up to the front door and banged wearily on it. He listened for footsteps or movement inside but his hearing was impaired by the howling wind.
He banged again harder and was starting to consider forcing his way in when the door opened a crack and an old face peered around the corner. “What do you want?” the man inside asked meekly.
“To get out of this bloody weather for one thing!” Brendon shouted.
The old man stared suspiciously out of the cottage and Brendon moved his scarf so that the man could see his dog collar. It was normally a door opener in all senses of the word but for some reason it seemed to make the man inside more uncomfortable.
“Police business. Open up!” Paterson said loudly and Brendon was grateful for the sudden urgent assistance.
The old man reluctantly opened the door wider and the three of them staggered in.
“Have you got a first aid kit?” Brendon asked the man.
“Nope, but I’ll get you some clean towels and some antiseptic to clean the wound,” he answered morosely.
Brendon nodded to Paterson, who was staring around the cottage with his usual blank expression, to help him with Donald. Together, they eased the sergeant into the cottage’s lounge and in front of a roaring fire. Brendon sat the policeman down in a chair facing the hearth.
The man appeared back in the doorway bearing medicinal gifts. “Here, let me,” he said as he started to clean Donald’s head wound. “Looks worse than it is,” he said as he wiped away the blood.
“I’m Brendon, that’s Donald and the young lad is Paterson,” Brendon introduced.
“Maurice; I’m the caretaker here,” Maurice replied.
“Is this Ravenhill? We couldn’t see a bloody thing out there,” Brendon asked.
“Yep, you found us, but you’re probably going to wish that you hadn’t,” Maurice said ominously.
“Is everything alright here? We heard a cry for help on the CB Radio coming from here; I think it was the Headmaster?” Brendon asked.
“Barnaby?”
“Yes, have you seen him? Are the kids ok?” Brendon asked, concerned.
“It’s not my place to ask,” Maurice answered as he lowered his eyes to avoid Brendon’s gaze.
“What the hell does that mean? Brendon exclaimed. “There’s a school full of kids out there and you’re sitting by the fire? You know what’s going on, don’t you?”
“No,” Maurice answered truthfully. “And I don’t want to find out either.”
“What is this place, Maurice?”
“It’s the last place a man of God should be,” he sighed heavily. “You’re not welcome here now; can’t you feel it?”
Brendon had performed a few services at the school and had always found it to be creepy enough at the best of times, but now he could feel waves of anger radiating towards him from the building. It wanted him gone and if not, it wanted him dead.
“I’ll tell you what I can feel Maurice; I can feel that there are people in trouble here - children, and I intend to help.”
“You can’t help, Father; you can’t help anyone,” Maurice said despondently. “Stay here with me out of the way. It’s nice and warm. I’ve got a bottle of whisky we can toast to better times and let Ravenhill have her way; it’s safer, trust me.”
“Maybe he’s got a point,” Paterson piped up. “I don’t know what’s happening here but I don’t want any part of it.”
“You’re a policeman, son, for heaven’s sake; I’d imagine that you joined for the sort of action that you’ve seen on TV?” Brendon enquired.
“So I did, but now this shit is too damn real and I just want to go back fetching cats out of trees and sipping tea with my feet up,” Paterson whined.
“Am I the only one who is prepared to do anything about this?” Brendon said incredulously.
“I’ll come with you,” Donald murmured from the chair groggily.
“Oh brilliant, what a fine pair we make,” Brendon laughed without much humor. “Starsky and Crutch.”
“You think this is funny?” Maurice said, shaking his head.
“No, old man; I think this is a million miles from funny,” Brendon snapped back. “But there is something very wrong here and there’s a bunch of kids caught in the middle somehow. Now if you aren’t going to help me, then I’ll just have to do it all my bloody self.”
“Alright, alright,” Maurice said, wavering. “Let me tell you what I can.” And with that he proceeded to tell the tale of Ravenhill for the second time.
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Jemima busied herself despite the happy burdens of impending motherhood. The kitchens were running efficiently and the domestic staff that were still in-house were all in good spirit and cheer. She put it down to the holidays; Christmas always seemed to put people in better moods.
Her back ached with her advanced term and she felt grateful that she wouldn’t have to suffer for 9 months. She whistled as she prepared vegetables; it was a small price to pay to be a founding mother of the new world. Joshua was indeed the new Messiah; he was plucked from God’s embrace to share his word with them and shape a new dawn.
She chuckled as she thought of her father who’d thought that she would never amount to much. When the world was bathed in peace and harmony he was going to have to eat those words.
None of this seemed strange to her: the fact that a 13 year old was running Ravenhill, that the adults were bowing down to him, or that the other children were now mere whispers on the wind, silent and obedient but ever watchful.
She knew that there was going to have to be a period of adjustment. She could tell that Joshua had a sourness towards Sarah, but she also knew that he was above pettiness and he would soon forgive whatever she had done to transgress.
She felt the beaming smile spread across her face at the thought of what was to come. She hadn’t been told of her specific part in the new dawn, but her baby was a blessing directly from God himself and she would be a cornerstone. She allowed herself a small hope of personal pleasure that Stuart would soon be returned to her, fulsome in his undying love and devotion. They would be together and they would be a family - one of the first new families - and they would be chosen to sit at the hand of their new savior.
As she chopped carrots, the knife slipped slightly and she nicked her finger. The blood was bright red and drew her attention. It was a small cut but it looked deep. The crimson glistened on the silver blade and she caught her own reflection in the knife. For a split second she saw her own eyes, which looked like those of a stranger. She suddenly felt like she was looking in on herself from the outside, pounding and silently screaming against the window desperate for attention.
Her hands drifted down to her swollen stomach and reality tugged at the corners of her mind. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered noisily on the counter. Several of the other women looked up at her with concern splashed across their faces mixed with suspicion.
What’s happening to me? she thought frantically. How can any of this be real? Her own thoughts seemed alien and distant like those of a stranger. Oh dear God, what’s happening?
A monstrous wave of pain suddenly ripped through her and she sank to her knees, clutching her stomach. All selfish thoughts were abruptly expelled from her body as concern for her child overwhelmed her. How could I be so self-centered? she thought savagely. I am blessed with child, I’m a mother now, and I have to prepare for my new family and our new dawn.
She returned to her duties as the other women dropped their eyes and returned to cheery work now that they were all part of the same consciousness once again.
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“Bollocks!” Paterson said in his usual witty manner after hearing Maurice’s tale.
“Thank you Oscar Wilde,” Brendon said impatiently.
“That is quite the tall tale,” Donald said from the armchair.
Brendon was glad that the elderly sergeant was starting to look a little better. His color had improved in front of the fireplace and Maurice, if nothing else, was a passable nurse. Donald’s head wound was dressed in strips of some kind of towel and fixed with tape.
“Believe it, don’t believe it, it makes no difference to me,” Maurice snorted. “You want to go riding in like the cavalry, be my guest; but it’s only fair that you know what you’re getting yourselves into.”
“I could believe a ghost story a lot more than some kind of psychic power station,” Brendon said slowly. “So who’s in there now?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Maurice answered defiantly.
“I think you do, old man, no matter how much you try and convince yourself otherwise,” Brendon said, staring hard at the caretaker.
“You don’t understand; this place has a power that reaches far beyond its borders. And if you three are here, then it’s because Ravenhill wanted it that way. My advice is for you to get the hell out of here and never look back,” Maurice said pleadingly.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Paterson chimed in nervously. “What do you reckon, Sarge? We get the hell out of this place before something bad happens?”
“I thought that you said it was bollocks?” Donald replied.
“Hey, I might be a bit dim, but I’m not completely stupid,” Paterson said sulkily. “This place stinks and so does that old man,” he said, pointing at Maurice.
“It never fails to astound me just who they let wear the uniform these days,” Donald said, shaking his head sadly.
“Hey, you didn’t want to come in the first place,” Paterson snapped back.
“Yeah, well I’m here now and we’ve got a job to do,” Donald said firmly as he tried to stand. “You coming or not?” he asked Maurice as the caretaker tried to look away. “This is your school after all.”
“I don’t own it,” Maurice replied quietly.
“But you are responsible, aren’t you?” Brendon asked, nodding.
“Oh hell, you’ll probably all get lost in there without me,” Maurice finally said after a long pause.
“So what do we do?” Donald interjected. “Do we arm ourselves with crucifixes and holy water?”
“Actually, I was kind of thinking about knocking on the front door,” Brendon answered with a broad sarcastic smile stretched across his face.
Chapter 19
Stuart came briefly to, threw up and drifted off again. The second time that he woke he kept his eyes closed tightly shut against the raging pain in his head. If he hadn’t had a concussion the first time he was struck in the head, he must surely have one now.
His head wasn’t just spinning after being clocked twice; it was spinning as much for seeing a heavily pregnant Jemima who claimed that her condition was the result of their one fumble only several nights before. Ghosts and hauntings were one thing, but a full-term pregnancy after only a few days was impossible, and yet there she was.
He slowly dragged his legs off the edge of the table where he lay and waited for his vision to settle down. He looked around and saw that he was still in the infirmary but he was now alone.
The room was long and quiet. The lights were out and presumably the power as well. He looked over to the doorway and could see a silhouette standing watch out in the corridor beyond. He tenderly touched the back of his head and winced; Thompson, he thought angrily. He remembered the boy striking him from behind with a flash of something large and heavy and he wondered where the boy had found the balls. Thompson had always been a pushy little sod, but physically assaulting a teacher seemed far beyond the usual school rebellion behavior. Not to mention the fact that the school nurse, Hannah Marks, had tried to take his head off with an axe. He had basically been kidnapped and assaulted, Sarah had been taken off somewhere, and his one night stand now looked like she was about to give birth any second. Ravenhill was a huge building but it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t seen any of the staff for a while. Maurice was bumbling around somewhere and Barnaby as well, but where were they now?
He had no idea what the hell was going on but one thing was clear - he had to find Sarah.
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Brendon stepped out into the storm again, only this time he hoped that they didn’t have far to go. There were four of them now, including two policemen, but the increase in personnel didn’t raise his spirits much.
Maurice led the way and the three of them followed. Donald was still a little shaky but Brendon knew that there was no chance that the sergeant was going to sit back at the cottage and wait.
The elderly caretaker moved quickly through the snow and they walked in single file. He risked a look up as the wind whipped painfully into his face and he saw Ravenhill looming above them. He shuddered, despite his thick layers, and he said a silent prayer to the big guy upstairs. He had seen enough pain and sorrow in his life to know that God didn’t always take sides and play favorites; he just hoped that today he picked up the phone.
Slowly they inched their way through the battering winds until they managed to blissfully shelter under the school’s huge porch. He watched as Maurice reached out and tried the door, but it wouldn’t give. The caretaker cursed and muttered under his breath as he produced a large bunch of ancient looking keys. He selected the biggest one and thrust it into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn either way.
“She won’t let us in,” Maurice shouted over the storm, kicking the door in frustration.
Brendon looked up at the imposing barrier. The doorway was around six feet wide and ten feet high. There were long glass panes built into the sides of the frame and the hallway was shrouded in darkness beyond. A flash of shadow whipped past and he pressed his hands to the window to peer inside.
“What is it?” Donald asked.
“I thought I saw someone in there,” Brendon answered cautiously.
“Who?” Maurice asked with a voice thickly laced with concern.
“A kid maybe…, wait a minute there, HEY, HEY YOU,” Brendon yelled as he pounded on the glass.
The kid looked to be around 10 years old. He was short and skinny and looked to be wearing a school uniform. The boy turned to the window and stared towards it with a blank expression that chilled Brendon to the bone. In that moment, he wanted the kid to just keep walking by and not answer the door, storm or no storm.
“OPEN UP!” Donald shouted as he barged past him and thumped the solid door hard with a frustrated fist. “This is the police, son; you’re not in any trouble but I need you to open this door right now.”
Brendon couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief when the boy turned away and walked slowly back into the shadows.
“Brilliant,” Paterson said grumpily. “Now what?”
“Well we’re not getting in this way, that’s for damn sure,” Maurice said as he started to jangle the large key ring. He took one off and handed it to Brendon. “This one opens the service doors around by the kitchens at the back,” he pointed. “You and the sergeant head there. I’ll take Dirty Harry here,” he said, nodding towards Paterson. “And try the doors in the basement.”
Brendon didn’t like the idea of them splitting up as it never seemed to work out so well in the movies. But whilst he was a priest, he was still a man and didn’t want to sound like a baby in front of the others.
“Ok, try the basement doors and if you get in, leave them open in case we don’t have any luck,” Brendon answered.
He watched as the caretaker and the young PC went in the opposite direction knowing that it didn’t feel right, but not quite having the will to say it aloud.
“Alright lets go; the sooner we get inside, the sooner we can put this all to bed, whatever it is,” Donald sighed as he started to limp back out into the storm.
Brendon followed him quickly and moved in
front to use his own bulk to at least try and partially shelter the sergeant. They moved as quickly as the heavy snowdrifts would allow until they found themselves by what looked like the refuse area. There were several large metallic canisters fenced off and the unmistakable stench of garbage.
Brendon reached back and grabbed the waning sergeant and pulled him towards the doors that he could see at the rear of the building. He reached them and took the key from his pocket. He unlocked the doors but wasn’t surprised that they didn’t open. The key turned clockwise and he felt the tumblers fall. The handle rotated smoothly but the door refused to budge as though it was being held firmly by unseen hands. The door didn’t shake in the frame or even give an inch; it was just frozen in place.
“It’s no good,” Brendon shouted over the wind. “It won’t open.”
“Let’s head back the other way and see if the others had better luck than us,” Donald yelled back.
“Good idea, they might have…,” Brendon’s words were cut short as the kitchen door swung quietly open behind him. Strong hands reached out and grabbed him firmly by the hood on his jacket and he was yanked inside before he realised what was happening.
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Stuart crept up to the infirmary door. He listened intently to his guard on the other side but all he could hear was quiet breathing.
He reached out slowly and carefully to try the door handle. Being an infirmary, there were locks on the individual cabinet doors to safeguard the medicinal contents but no lock on the door. He could see through the frosted glass that whoever was out there was largely built, but essentially still a child. He started to feel like he was caught in some kind of bizarre movie where children were taking over the world; it would have been laughable if not for the large lump on the back of his head.
“Hello?” he called out in a low croaky voice. “I don’t feel so good; I think that my head is all messed up.” He waited for an answer but none came; the shadow outside merely stayed passive and silent.
He knew that he should just march right out the door and demand some answers from whichever boy was out there, but somehow he just couldn’t. There was a fear in his boots that welded his feet to the floor. He was a teacher and that used to carry a certain level of authority, but now he knew that was gone.