Black's Creek

by Sam Millar

  ‘No. It … it all happened so quickly. It was all over in a few minutes. They ambushed the two of us when we were swimming.’

  Mom’s eyes widened. ‘Swimming? You never said anything about swimming.’ Her voice was starting to rise noticeably. ‘Swimming where?’

  ‘Jackson’s Lake …’

  I knew that was coming next.

  ‘Whattttt!’ shouted Mom, making me jump. ‘Jackson’s Lake! Didn’t you listen to your father telling you not to go near that dreadful place, after young Joey Maxwell’s tragic accident? How could you?’

  ‘There’s nowhere else to go in this town, that’s why!’

  ‘Don’t dare raise your voice to me, Mister. Go to your room – now.’ Mom was no longer sympathetic to my suffering.

  I did as ordered, glad to be left alone at last. Closing my bedroom door, I went straight to the mirror on the wall.

  Shit! What a mess! The ends of the stitches hung ghoulishly from my lip. I looked like one of Doctor Frankenstein’s afterthoughts. Yet I was secretly thrilled with them. They were actually fairly cool, and made me look tough, like a movie actor. In a perverse way, the tiny indents beneath the stitching belonged to Devlin. I smiled, causing fresh stabs of pain to shoot across my face.

  Someone tapped on the door.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, quickly sitting down at my table, grabbing a Green Lantern comic.

  ‘Can I come in, Son?’ Dad said, easing the door open.

  ‘Sure.’

  He gave me a crooked smile.

  ‘You okay?’ he said, sitting down beside me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything I should know, now that we’re out of Mom’s earshot?’

  I thought about repeating the lie, but couldn’t.

  ‘It … it wasn’t a gang, Dad. I made that up.’

  He nodded, looking very serious. ‘I suspected as much. You don’t lie too convincingly. Did Brent Fleming do it?’

  ‘No, that part was true.’

  ‘If not him, then who?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Are you protecting someone, or is it fear?’

  I thought about that for a few seconds, before saying, ‘Protecting someone. I know she –’ I began stuttering. ‘I … I … I mean he. He didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I see.’ Dad gave me one of his penetrating looks, as if trying to read my mind. ‘You’re sure this is never going to repeat itself?’

  ‘Yes … I mean, no, it won’t. It’s finished – forever.’

  He looked at me for a few more seconds. ‘Okay, I’m going to let it go, just this once, but if it ever happens again, I’ll not rest until I bring the person before a judge, no matter their gender. Do I make myself clear?’

  I hadn’t a clue what ‘gender’ meant, but thought it best to quickly agree to Dad’s generous terms.

  ‘Yes, very clear. Thanks … thanks, Dad.’

  He ruffled my hair, his way of showing affection and understanding. He stood to leave, but not before advising me to get some rest.

  Before I knew it, mental and physical exhaustion began kicking in alongside the painkillers. I slowly eased on to the bed, and closed my eyes. This was turning out to be the worst summer of my life, and I was only halfway through it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blood Brothers Spill Blood

  Cruel he looks, but calm and strong Like one who does, not suffers wrong.

  Shelley, Prometheus Unbound

  Two days had gone by since the Battle of the Lake – as Horseshoe had grinningly named it. The fact that he was the only one to come out of it unscathed only added to his delight. The three of us were gathered outside Gino’s, drinking Coke, and the fight was still the main topic. Brent was talking about revenge, about how no sucker-punching bitch was going to stain his reputation. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t advise any harm towards Devlin, and told him not to be calling her a bitch.

  ‘Why’re you defending her?’ Brent said, glaring at me. ‘Just because she pulled your dick a couple of times, you think she’s some sort of beauty queen?’

  ‘Take that back,’ I said.

  ‘Fuck you. I’m not taking anything back. She’s a sucker-punching bitch.’

  ‘Devlin’s got more balls than you, any day of the week. At least she never pissed her pants like a little kid.’ Or crapped them, like me.

  Brent’s face turned crimson and distorted. I had gone too far. He took an angry swing at me, missing my nose by a nose.

  My aim was better. I cracked him so hard on the chin he was knocked cold, landing sprawled on his back on the path. Pain shot through my hand, but adrenaline eased most of it.

  Horseshoe’s mouth gaped open. He looked at my fist, and then at Brent on the ground, before saying, ‘Shit, Tommy, what’re you gonna do when he gets up?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ I said, not too sure what the hell I was going to see. I wasn’t relishing a fight with Brent; he possessed a psycho meanness when dishing out punishment. This was the second time I had landed him on his butt. He would now have to do something to save face.

  When he finally did come to, I stood my ground, waiting for the inevitable attack. Inexplicably, it never came. Brent eased himself up off the ground, rubbing his chin a couple of times and glaring at me with daggers of pure hatred. Then he simply turned and left, like a wounded but very dangerous dog. He never said a single word.

  ‘I think that’s the end of blood-brothers, Tommy,’ said a perplexed-looking Horseshoe. ‘Brent looked like he wanted to kill someone.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Death in the Early Hours

  Death devours all lovely things.

  Edna St Vincent Millay

  I would never forget that morning, almost two weeks after my bust-up with Brent. I woke to the sound of Dad’s voice filtering up from downstairs. I knew it was early, because of the particular quietness in the house. He was talking with Mom, but secretively, in hushed tones. Something in their voices filled me with dread.

  Sneaking out of my room, I hid on the landing, listening.

  ‘Shocking …’ Mom kept repeating. ‘And you’ve no idea who the young girl is?’

  ‘Nothing yet. I’ve seen some terrible killings, Helen, but this was one of the most violent. Brutal. She’d been raped also, according to the initial coroner’s report.’

  ‘Dear God …’ From the stairway, I could see Mom’s face cringe. Despite hearing the horrors of Dad’s job every day, she had never managed to immunise her feelings. ‘To think someone in this town could do such an evil deed.’

  ‘Evil doesn’t restrict itself to big cities, Helen. It’s everywhere.’

  ‘I hope you find him soon, Frank, before he strikes again. People will be expecting you to catch him – and quickly.’

  ‘I’ve never rushed an investigation, just to calm people’s fears,’ Dad said, looking annoyed. ‘That’s how mistakes are made. I won’t be changing my ways just because of pressure.’

  ‘Of course not. I never meant it that way.’

  ‘I haven’t got the full autopsy report yet either,’ Dad continued. Then, as if reading Mom’s mind, he looked straight at her. ‘I’m going to take Norman Armstrong in for more questioning.’

  ‘You think that beast has something to do with it?’

  Dad’s voice went low. ‘I think he’s got something to do with something, and I sure as hell intend to find out, once and for all, just what exactly that something is.’

  Straining to hear, I moved on to the next stair, cursing under my breath as the stair’s telltale squeak exposed me. Mom and Dad looked immediately up in my direction.

  ‘Tommy? What on earth are you doing?’ Dad said. He looked startled. ‘Were you listening in to our private conversation?’

  ‘The girl, Dad? What … what did she look like?’ I walked slowly down the stairs towards them.

  Mom glared at me. ‘I’ve warned you before, about listening to –’

  ‘Tell me wh
at she looked like!’

  ‘Don’t you dare shout in this house, Mister!’

  Dad reached and touched Mom’s hand. ‘It’s okay, Helen. Sometimes it’s good to shout.’ He was looking at me entirely differently to the way Mom was. The cop in him was quickly kicking in. ‘Sit down and we’ll have breakfast first, Son.’

  ‘I don’t want breakfast. What … what did the girl look like?’

  Dad glanced at Mom again, before returning his gaze to me. ‘She had blonde hair, cropped page-boy style. Blue eyes. Her face was covered in –’

  ‘Freckles …’

  Dad’s face tightened. It paled slightly. ‘You think you know this young girl, Son?’

  ‘It’s Devlin.’

  ‘Devlin? The artist girl, the one on the swing? What makes you think it’s her?’

  ‘Something … I don’t know, something’s telling me it’s her …’

  ‘You said a while back that she lived on a farm outside of town. Do you think you could show me, if we go in the car?

  ‘No! I never want to see that horrible place again!’

  ‘Okay …’ Dad said, his voice calm and soothing. ‘You don’t have to go. I’ll figure something out from the description you gave me. Is there anything else you can tell me about her?’

  ‘The farm …’

  ‘Yes? What about the farm?’

  ‘It’s …’ I looked at Mom, and then back to Dad. ‘It’s over in Dust Hill …’

  Mom looked to be on the point of saying something, probably about how she had always warned me about the people of Dust Hill, but Dad gave her a fierce look.

  ‘Anything else, Son?’

  ‘Her … mother’s name is Jessica. That’s all I know …’

  My voice was quivering, threatening to quit altogether. Tears began running down my face and into my mouth. I would never forget their saltiness. Ever. Everything was spinning.

  Dad quickly stood and came over beside me. ‘It’s okay, Son. It’s okay.’

  Of course, it would never be okay. Not now. Not ever.

  Just as I made a move to go back upstairs, I collapsed, and darkness swallowed me.

  When I finally came to, I was in bed. Doctor Henderson, our family doctor, was sitting beside me, with an anxious-looking Mom standing behind him. Strangely, Dad wasn’t there.

  Doctor Henderson was checking something scribbled on a pad while his fingers negotiated a pen. The pen rolled with a life of its own, back and forth between his fingers, magically, like water over pebbles in a stream.

  ‘Mom? Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He’s gone out, on a call. He hopes to be back soon.’

  ‘Devlin’s? He’s gone over to the farm, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, Tommy. Deputy Hillman says he knows the area well, and the people …’

  Doctor Henderson coughed. ‘Okay, enough talking, Tommy. You need to get as much rest as possible. This should help.’

  He handed me a tiny glass, containing an evil-looking green liquid.

  ‘What … is it?’

  ‘It’ll help you sleep. Drink it in one go. That’s a good man.’

  I sniffed it. It stank like fried grease.

  ‘It’s not for sniffing,’ he said in a scolding voice. ‘Down the hatch.’

  Reluctantly, I sent it down my throat, just like I’d seen John Wayne do a million times with a glass of whiskey. The foul-tasting liquid punched its way to my stomach. I retched. Wanted to vomit.

  ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ Doctor Henderson said.

  ‘Disgusting.’ I made a face.

  ‘Good. The more horrible the taste, the better the medicine’s strength.’

  And with that, he bid me a good day and peaceful sleep.

  Mom accompanied him downstairs, and within minutes of their leaving, I could feel my eyes becoming sore with tiredness. Eyelids became heavier, and heavier …

  Outside the window, the soft drone of distant traffic could be heard, and kids playing without a care in the world. The way it should be. They were shouting to each other, laughing. One of them kept saying my name, over and over again.

  Tommy! Tommy!

  It was Devlin, running in the direction of the forest.

  I quickly eased out of bed, and sneaked out the window, heading for the forest. I was running in slow motion towards her voice, cursing the swampy sluggishness of my feet. I’m coming, I’m coming, I yelled. Hold on, Devlin! Hold on!

  The forest was covered in a crimson haze, as if the devil himself had come visiting.

  Where are you, Devlin!

  Here! Over here! Hurry, Tommy! Hurry!

  I ran on, finally finding her leaning against an old tree. I thanked God she was okay. She wasn’t dead, after all. It had only been a bad dream.

  Devlin, I said, smiling with relief. I thought you were …

  She stepped away from the tree, and what I saw paralysed me with horror. Her collarbone jutted at a strange angle. Swelling and bruising distorted her one-time beautiful face almost beyond recognition. It was a scrambled mess. Eyes swollen shut. Lips split and caked with black blood. Underneath all the red and black and blue, her skin was white as a ghost. From her waist down, she was covered in blood, flesh torn from the bone.

  You said you’d save me, Tommy. Why did you lie? Why did you let him do all these terrible things to me? She reached out and touched my face with her bloody hand. I could taste her blood’s metallic tang in my mouth.

  Don’t die, Devlin! Please don’t die. Don’t leave me … please don’t … I can’t live without you.

  He’s coming for you, Tommy. He’s coming for you.

  Who, Devlin? Who’s coming for me?

  ‘Tommy? Tommy?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Someone was shaking me.

  ‘You were having a bad dream, shouting in your sleep. You okay?’ Dad said, sitting down on the side of my bed. He looked concerned.

  ‘Did you find Devlin’s farm?’

  Dad nodded. ‘Yes, I found it. Deputy Hillman was brought up around there as a kid. He knows the area well. More importantly, I spoke to Mrs Mantle.’

  ‘Mrs Mantle …?’

  ‘Devlin’s mother.’

  ‘Devlin Mantle. I never even knew her name. How stupid is that?’

  ‘I didn’t know your Mom’s surname for about three weeks, when I first stared dating her.’ Dad smiled. ‘Things like that aren’t important to teenagers. Believe it or not, I was one once.’

  ‘Did … did Devlin’s mother say anything?’ I said, wondering if Mrs Mantle had put two and two together and come up with me being the snooping trespasser? ‘About Devlin?’

  ‘No, not yet. She seemed to be in a state of shock. I couldn’t get her to talk to me, but I’ll go back tomorrow and see how she’s doing. I need to find out as much information as possible about her daughter.’

  ‘Did … did Devlin suffer badly, Dad?’

  For the longest time, Dad didn’t say anything. There was a world of pain and terror in that silence.

  ‘Devlin is in a better place now, Tommy. That’s all I can tell you.’

  My stomach tightened. I felt like vomiting. The green liquid bubbled in my stomach. I wondered what hell she went through before being murdered.

  ‘You’ll get him, Dad, won’t you? Bring him to justice?’

  ‘We’ll talk about it later, Tommy. Right now, you need to rest.’

  ‘It was Armstrong, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t have an answer to that. Not yet, anyway. Time will tell. But you must promise me never to discuss what you heard between Mom and me this morning. Not to anyone. It could jeopardise any possible charges against the perpetrator. Now, promise me you won’t repeat what you heard this morning.’

  ‘Only if you promise to get Armstrong.’

  ‘Mom would be very angry with you if she heard you trying to negotiate conditions for keeping a promise. She’d be even angrier with me if she heard me agreeing to those conditions. Okay, I promise to do everyt
hing in my power to get justice for Devlin. Now, your promise.’

  ‘I promise not to discuss what I heard this morning.’

  ‘When you’re feeling better, I’ll need you to tell me everything you know about Devlin – her friends, how you met. Had she any enemies, people who would hurt her? Any small details you can think of. Leave nothing out. Any little thing could be important. Now, I want you to get some sleep.’ He kissed my forehead, something I was unaccustomed to. ‘I need you to be strong for the days ahead.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Monster Caged

  Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.

  Oliver Goldsmith, ‘The Deserted Village’

  Devlin’s funeral was a private affair. No mourners permitted, by order of her mother. Worse, Devlin’s body was cremated. Dust. As if she had never existed.

  I sneaked as near to the crematorium as I could, fearful of being caught by Jessica Mantle. I watched her leave, with a tiny urn tucked under her arm. I couldn’t take my eyes from it. I fantasised about stealing the urn, getting my Devlin back.

  Over the following days, depression swallowed me. Everything became claustrophobic. I went back to not eating, but this time neither Mom nor Dad said anything, as if they understood what torment I was going through. Of course, they never saw me crying at night, alone in my room, but they showed mercy during the day, and didn’t attempt to pry into my grief.

  As the days rolled on, details of Devlin’s horrific murder, and her equally horrific life, began to emerge: a father abandoning her at birth, leaving her in the care of a seemingly oblivious mother, hooked on drugs and alcohol. Back then, Jessica Mantle earned money for the drugs through prostitution, before finally ‘finding religion’. It soon became known that Devlin had been abused by some of her mother’s clients, and that concerns raised by neighbours at the time were mostly ignored by incompetent or indifferent social workers. One of those clients had been Norman Armstrong.