Carved in Stone: Monochrome Destiny

by T L Blake

  Monochrome Destiny

  Carved in Stone

  By T L Blake

  Copyright © 2015 by T L Blake

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  Published in the United Kingdom

  First Published, 2015

  tl.blake@yahoo.co.uk

  To those lovely ladies who have been astoundingly patient whilst this story has slowly come to life. Know that your input has made this tale what it is today and without you it would likely never have made it to print.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  PROLOGUE

  Why did everything have to take so long? He‘d only meant to be about an hour, but now half the bloody day was wasted. It would be fully dark before he got back.

  “Shit.” He depressed the accelerator down further and cursed himself for his failures. He’d lived in the sleepy town of Porthmollek long enough to know that getting to civilisation and back took longer than an hour. He should have left earlier and now he’d pay the price.

  Waiting for him at home was an enormous pile of practice exam papers. He’d promised to give out the results tomorrow, so had no choice but to get them marked tonight. It wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his evening, but that couldn’t be helped now. The match was set to be recorded, just in case, but he didn’t want to watch it tomorrow. One or more of the bloody kids was bound to bring up the game and ruin it for him.

  He glanced at his watch and calculated that he might just have time to finish the marking and watch the game if he got home quickly enough. He depressed the accelerator further and sped down the twisting narrow lane that led into town. Hemmed in with high banks and, in places, barely wide enough for two cars to safely pass each other, the road certainly wasn’t what might be called a thoroughfare, but it was all that Porthmollek had.

  The yellow twinkling hue of the town lighting up for the evening came into view in the distance. “Nearly there, come on, you can do this,” he spoke to the car and tickled her a little more.

  Rounding a bend overly quickly, he gasped when he saw a figure standing in the centre of the road. He slammed on his brakes in kneejerk reaction and swung the wheel hard to the bank.

  The car spun.

  He knew he’d been going too fast and that there was now no way to avoid a collision, but at least he swerved around whoever was in the road.

  Seconds elongated as the car bucked beneath him. It hit the unyielding high roadside bank with such force that it lifted into the air. He felt his seatbelt snap tightly just before a momentary feeling of weightlessness. The car then flipped, rolled up the bank, caving the roof in like paper and then ricocheted back into the road. The noise was horrendous, but he didn’t hear it for long. His head smashed into the crumpled roof despite the airbag inflating and he was knocked unconscious.

  When he came to, pain sliced into his temple as he opened his eyes. The airbag hung limply from the centre of the steering wheel and the windscreen was smashed and mostly missing. He was crumpled over the steering wheel like a rag doll.

  To his surprise, the car was upright again and facing downhill. The twin beams of the headlights, miraculously still functioning, picked out the desolate stretch of road that led into town. He could see the red rimmed speed limit signs glowing further ahead despite rather foggy vision.

  Something wet trickled down his face. He tried to lift his arm to touch his temple and judge the damage, only to find that his muscles didn’t seem to be working properly. Either that or his arm had somehow turned to lead. He knew this was bad and he blinked to clear his vision before slowly leaning himself back and groaning.

  Oh God, the person in the road! Panic seized him. He couldn’t bear to think that he’d hit someone. He tried to turn to see, but the pain from his battered body was excruciating. He began yelling, and to his relief, heard footsteps running to the side of the car.

  “Oh, thank God.” Slowly, turning to the side, he met the face of his saviour. “Help me, please!”

  “Help you?” The voice taunted in reply, scratchy and unexpected. “Help you, help you, help you?” The figure danced, skipped perhaps; he wasn’t certain. The steps were too light to be real and the words were a song, a child’s song, ‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses’.

  He had to be dreaming, or he had hit his head really hard and was hallucinating.

  “Please.” He managed on a sigh, the effort to stay awake suddenly more difficult. He knew enough to know that he was seriously injured, knew that his body was shutting down, and he fought, he really did, as the dancing figure both taunted and frightened him.

  “Did you like your trip?” Its voice was high pitched and screechy. “I liked it when you flew. What was it like? What was it like to fly without wings?”

  The words were fast and garbled. He struggled to make out what was being said. It was barely comprehensible and he couldn’t be hearing correctly.

  “Call for help, please.” His eyes rolled and he knew he was losing the fight to stay awake. Losing consciousness was bad, very bad.

  “Help, help, help, help, help.” The figure kept on and on, dancing in wide circles, lit occasionally by the headlights, but otherwise shadowed from the dying sun.

  Tears ran down his face.

  The figure darted to the car, placed two hands on the doorframe, the window long gone, and leaned in. He knew he was hallucinating now, for whoever it was, leaned to his face and licked him, from jaw to temple.

  “Hmm, yummy, yummy.” It said in that eerie screech before the voice deepened and darkened. “I want more.” It was a demand, said with the voice of the Devil himself, a voice that could turn muscle to ice, bone to stone.

  I’m dead, he realised. This was hell. He hadn’t survived the wreck and destiny called him down, forever down.

  Funny, how he’d never been a believer. Not once in his entire life had he thought that heaven or hell truly existed and yet now, here he was, trapped by his past and facing his eternity of damnation.

  It had been many years ago that he’d gotten in with the wrong crowd, the very wrong crowd. Many years ago that he’d been there, in even the s
mallest capacity, to watch a man being beaten to death. He’d tried to make up for it. He’d changed his life, become an inspiring teacher and fought to keep others from the same path that he had once followed. But he never had repented, had he? He never had asked for forgiveness and now it was too late.

  “No, I’ve changed, please.” Fear gave him the energy for words. “Are you going to punish me for one mistake?”

  “Mistake, mistake, mistake.” The figure, back to screeching and dancing, taunted him again. “One mistake is all you get. One mistake is all you get. One mistake is all you get.”

  Anger seized him, boiled from somewhere within. “No, I’ve made up for it, damn you. I don’t want to go to hell.”

  The figure stopped skipping and stared at him. Cocking its head, it scrutinised him for an age before bursting into high-pitched laughter. As its cynical hysteria subsided it came to the window once again. “You’re not dead. I’m not here to take you to hell.”

  Confused, pain dulling his mind, he could only ask one question. “Then why are you here?”

  “To finish you, of course. Can’t have you meddling, meddling, meddling. Calling hospitals is bad. You should have gone straight home. We did ask, did ask, did ask.”

  He stared in disbelief. He’d only made one phone call recently, on Friday. He’d been going to enquire about it tomorrow. “I only called to see how she was doing. Any good teacher would.” A year 11 pupil had been taken out of his classroom on Friday, all but unconscious. He’d assumed, from the swift onset of her illness that it had been meningitis, so he had called the hospital to check on her condition, and to see if his assumption was correct. If one went down with meningitis, the chances were that there would be more. He’d been surprised that she wasn’t a patient and from the tone of the person who answered the call, she never had been. He’d been planning to do a follow up on Monday, to see if her parents were supporting her.

  “Told you not to, told you not to, told you not to, told . . .” It went on and on and on. His ears pounded as each shrill word drilled into his bruised brain.

  “Stop, please stop.”

  The figure clamped its hands on the car again and stared. “Time’s up, Mr Teacher.” It had no smile, he realised, despite the words sounding full of menacing glee.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  He watched it cock its head again before it stilled. The long uninterrupted silence that fell over them was more terrifying than all the taunting had been. For such a previously animated figure, it could stand so completely still that it could easily be a mannequin. One straight from hell.

  Then it finally spoke.

  “Oh no, we don’t want you dead . . . yet.”

  From out of the gloom several other figures moved with ethereal grace and circled the car. As energy seeped from him, just as the blood seeped from his wounds, he had a moment to consider that they all looked alike, featureless and dark, before unconsciousness pulled him under for the very last time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Damn kids, Robyn thought as she stared at the dead crow on the welcome mat. The bird must have been placed there after she had arrived home last night because the stiff, maggot-infested carcass was not a recently deceased specimen. Practical joke or revenge after last night’s parents evening, it mattered not; this was a step too far.

  At least the slowly mummifying corpse didn’t smell.

  Slamming the door, Robyn headed back into the cottage.

  “Forgotten something?” Kat questioned through a mouthful of toast.

  Robyn’s housemate was still wearing pyjamas but appeared to be in no hurry over her breakfast. They had known each other for five months now. They were the two newest members of staff at the local school and had become firm friends despite their obvious differences.

  “No, someone has decided to send me another little present. I’ll clean it up before I leave.” Robyn rifled through the cupboards under the sink, pulling out gloves, a bag and disinfectant spray. She didn’t know why the kids here had a passion for the macabre, but this was not the first dead offering they had left, nor, she suspected, would it be the last.

  Kat showed no surprise either. “You know, life would be much easier if you weren’t so hard on the kids.”

  It was an argument they’d had before. Kat was easy-going, beautiful and had most, if not all, of the kids wrapped around her slender little finger. Teaching girls P.E. she spent most of her time strutting about in the smallest, tightest outfits that she could get away with, which meant the teenage boys, and plenty of the male staff, were completely in love with her; the girls just wanted to be her and as for the rest of the staff; they were jealous.

  “Don’t go there. I had plenty of that last night.” Robyn started to put on the gloves and walk to the front door.

  In contrast to Kat, who’s teaching style was laid back to say the least, Robyn had been specifically tasked with raising achievement in Science. The Truscott-Tremain Academy, where they both worked, had seen a significant decline in scientific performance in the last ten years. Robyn came to them newly qualified, but with a proven record in getting middle to low ability children to attain the all-important grade C that was recorded in league tables. Taking her position seriously, Robyn acted with cold professionalism, her own stubborn determination coming through in her work. Demanding hard work from her students, all too aware that there was little time before the exams, Robyn had not made any friends.

  The previous night’s parents evening had been move of a chore than Robyn had been expecting. The small community of Porthmollek, Cornwall, was not one to praise aspiration. The town itself was struggling to cope with the latest financial downturn and the people had little incentive to strive for better. Sat at the end of an otherwise barren peninsula, Porthmollek was out-dated and isolated. What made parents evening even more difficult was that she was an outsider.

  Robyn had been teaching hard and expecting the pupils to work equally so, but parents were less than accommodating about the new regime. Of those who had bothered to attend last night’s meeting, most were only there to complain about the workload and make excuses for the lack of support from home.

  As Robyn teased the dead bird off the mat and into the bin bag, she had to remind herself why she had come to Porthmollek in the first place, and why she was so determined to stay. She could make a mark here and she really needed to do that professionally. Her C.V. wasn’t in the best condition. She could also build a life. She knew it would take time to be accepted, but once the locals realised that she was here to stay, she would hopefully be brought into the fold. This had to work, this was her last shot.

  Kat watched over Robyn’s shoulder. “Ooh, I don’t know how you can do that, gross.”

  “Well, bearing in mind that I’m wearing gloves, I might point out that it is more hygienic than you snogging a handful of men every night.” Robyn tied the bag and squirted antibacterial spray onto the mat before standing.

  “Oh, come on, there’s no comparison.” Kat beamed in recollection of their latest trip to the nearest large town. “Hmm, that tall blonde was definitely alright. I wonder if he’s emailed.”

  Robyn had to laugh. Kat had enough relationships going on for the two of them, hell, probably enough for the entire single population of Porthmollek.

  “Do you know his name?”

  Kat shook her tangled blonde mane. “I will when he contacts me though.”

  Kat stepped back to allow Robyn to deposit her bag in the bin, remove her gloves and give her hands a thorough clean.

  “I have to go,” Robyn picked up her bag and keys. “Don’t be late again.”

  “Yes, mum.” Kat ran up the stairs.

  Shaking her head, Robyn walked to her car and sighed. Kat would never quite be organised enough to make life easy.

  Sliding into the driving seat and allowing herself a wicked grin, Robyn started the throaty engine and pulled onto the single track lane that meandered down to the cottage. Putting he
r foot down, she flew up the hill in her one and only pleasure. The 1969 MGB purred beneath her, and for a fleeting moment, everything in her life was good. She’d fought hard to retain her driving license and she wasn’t going to squander it.

  By morning break, Robyn had three pupils heading back for lunchtime detention and a headache. The Truscott-Tremain Academy was nothing like its name portrayed. Yes, it was private, but the pupil’s parents did not pay for the privilege of their child’s education. Two wealthy benefactors had built the school many years previously and left a trust to run it. The school was free to all secondary aged pupils who lived within the Porthmollek area.

  For the local community the school was a godsend, as the only alternative was over an hour’s drive away, but the school, no matter how well funded, was struggling. The pupils were disillusioned and the staff demoralised. But things would change.

  Break time saw staff heading to the staffroom for a much needed hot drink. Robyn joined the already formed queue for the kitchenette and made her tea weak and warm when she got to the front. Intending to drink quickly before heading back to her classroom she turned to find a tall, bulky figure blocking her way. This was not the first time this had happened.

  Derek Ellis, darkly tanned, menacing and topped with overlong white hair that was combed back and greased precisely, stood in her way and purposefully shifted both left and right to block her, when she attempted to step around him.

  Nerves fluttered in Robyn’s stomach, a reminder of the woman she had once been and never wanted to be again. She was not about to allow this bully the satisfaction of seeing her fear so she swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to meet Derek’s, dark, cold stare without flinching.

  “Would you let me pass, please?” She spoke her words in a saccharine sweet tone meeting deep hatred with fluffy friendliness. It took all of her willpower to achieve the result, but it didn’t work. Derek didn’t move.

  “No-one wants you here, Darrow.” It was an old record but one Derek kept on playing. He’d had a problem with both her and Kat from the start.