The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One).

by Andrew M Stafford

  Matthews looked concerned.

  “Are you OK sir?” he enquired.

  “Yes, well, at least I think so,” replied Garraway.

  “Shall we find an empty meeting room, and you can tell me what’s going on?” suggested Matthews. Garraway nodded.

  Garraway sat down at the table in meeting room two. Matthews changed the sign on the door to ‘meeting in progress’ and shut the door behind him.

  “Shoot!” said Matthews as he sat opposite Garraway.

  Markland Garraway looked around the small office as if searching for the right words.

  He started from the very beginning. From the first time he had been to the place where Ben Walker had been found and how he was sick, how he’d had strange visions when sitting on the hill to how he recalled every detail of the UFO encounter and the strange voice that he heard.

  Matthews listened silently.

  “What about Polly?” asked Matthews. “You mentioned just now that you went to the woods with her.” This was the part that Garraway was feeling most awkward about, especially since her suicide, and now the strange note she had left.

  Garraway explained how he had made contact with her after finding her post on the Mythical UK website about the burial mound, or ‘the hill’ as he now preferred to call it. He told him about their telephone conversation, their meeting in the bar, their visit to the hill together, how Polly would sit on the hill and talk with her dead girlfriend, and how Sarah had told Polly that he should keep an open mind about Ben Walker’s murder.

  “So you didn’t think to mention in our investigation that Polly had some kind of interest in the case?” asked Matthews.

  Garraway shrugged his shoulders.

  “I didn’t think it was relevant,” he replied, “and if I had mentioned that she had been given hints from beyond the grave, no one would have believed her, or me, and the evidence wouldn’t have been of any use.”

  “That’s not the point sir, and I think you know it. The point is that she had an interest in the case and I think we should have brought her in for an interview, if only to eliminate her from our enquiries.”

  Garraway knew Matthews was right.

  Matthews stood up and looked out of the office window. He turned around to Garraway and cleared his throat.

  “To be frank sir, I don’t think you should be on this case.”

  Garraway sat upright and stared at Matthews.

  “I beg your pardon?” he calmly replied.

  “I’m worried about you sir, what you are telling me is all very odd.”

  Garraway viewed Matthews suspiciously.

  “Keep going,” said Garraway.

  “Let’s consider the evidence sir, you’re seeing things, you’ve been off colour, you admitted that on your day off you slept for most of it, which is very unlike you and you’ve been keeping back information which could help with our enquiry.” Matthews paused to consider what to say next.

  “And, you believe that Polly was communicating with her dead girlfriend about the case.”

  “Well I was right about the handwriting wasn’t I?” snapped Garraway, his voice rising in anger.

  “It would seem so,” replied Matthews.

  “Can I ask you something sir?” said Matthews in a compassionate tone, which could be construed as patronising.

  “What?” retorted Garraway.

  “Is everything OK at home, you know, between you and Mrs Garraway?”

  “I would like to remind you to mind your own business about my home life, it’s got nothing to do with you,” shouted Garraway so loud that the staff outside the meeting room could hear his voice.

  “It does have something to do with me if it’s affecting our work,” replied Matthews calmly.

  “I think I need to speak with Detective Superintendent Munroe, sir,” he continued.

  “Well that’s your prerogative Colin,” snapped Garraway as he stood up, walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Matthews stayed in the meeting room and let out one hell of a big sigh. He didn’t like what he’d just done, but he was worried about his colleague.

  Chapter twenty six

  The Incident Room

  9am

  Monday 13th October

  When Garraway returned to work on Monday he was told to report to Munroe. He huffed, and slowly made his way to Munroe’s office on the fourth floor. He knocked on the door and heard Munroe’s gruff voice.

  “Enter.”

  Garraway felt like a school boy about to see the headmaster. He pushed the door open and walked into the office.

  Munroe was a short rotund man in his late fifties. He had been in the force for over thirty five years. He rarely smiled, and Garraway made no effort to hide his dislike for him.

  “Sit down, please,” barked Munroe.

  “I think you know why you’re here,” said the Detective Superintendent.

  “I assume you’ve been speaking with Colin Matthews sir.”

  “Mmmmm, yes” he replied nonchalantly as he thumbed through some notes.

  “Matthews is concerned about you, and I think he’s every right to be,” he said, as he took off his glasses and focused on Garraway’s face.

  “I would have to say you’ve been acting out of character since you’ve been involved in the Walker investigation.”

  “I’m no expert Mr Garraway, but I would say you are heading for some kind of nervous breakdown.”

  Garraway opened his mouth, but was thwarted from speaking by Munroe raising his hand.

  “I want you to make an appointment with Occupational Health.”

  Garraway tried to talk again, but Munroe spoke first.

  “I think you should take some time off, let Matthews carry on with the Walker investigation, he’s a good policeman and he’s got plenty of support.”

  “Honestly, I’m fine,” said Garraway.

  “You’re not fine, sometimes you can be brilliant, but you’re not fine, at least not now,” replied Munroe.

  “Are you suggesting that I am off this case for good?” he asked.

  “I’ll reserve judgement until after I’ve read the report from Occupational Health.”

  Garraway knew there was no point in protesting. He could appeal, but not until the report from Occupational Health had been submitted.

  “I recommend you go home Mr Garraway and rest up. Occupational Health will be in touch with you soon.”

  “Sometimes, the best decisions are not the easiest ones to make,” he added sympathetically.

  Garraway nodded and turned to leave.

  “There is one thing,” said Munroe as Garraway opened the door.

  “I’m intrigued,” he said, holding a sheet of A4 and pointing at the paper, “How did you work out that the handwriting on Polly Ellis’ suicide note would match Sarah Greenfield’s?” He paused as he skim read the paper in his hand, “and how do you think her handwriting appeared on the note over two years after she died?”

  “It’s all about having an open mind sir,” replied Garraway as he left the office closing the door behind him.

  Chapter twenty seven

  Markland Garraway’s home

  3.45pm

  Friday 17th October

  Garraway had been assessed by Tim Westlake of Occupational Health and had been told to see his GP. He had been honest with Westlake and told him everything that had happened since early September. On the recommendation of Westlake and Garraway’s GP, he had been signed off work for four weeks due to stress.

  Garraway was not happy. He was more stressed at home attempting to recover, than when working.

  Joan hadn’t been particularly supportive and told him not to sit around the house and get under her feet. She had given him a list of things that needed doing.

  He had considered booking a cottage somewhere for a short break with Joan, but didn’t have the motivation.

  He had been told by Westlake not to return to the woods and, in no uncertain term
s, he should not go to the hill. Hearing this was like a red rag to a bull. It was the only place he wanted to be. The hill had become an obsession. Since being signed off work, it was about the only thing he could think of.

  He jumped up, grabbed his coat and car keys and headed back to the hill, despite implicit instructions not to.

  Fifteen minutes later he was there. It was a cold afternoon, the sky was covered in heavy clouds and it was getting dark. He didn’t notice how cold it was and left his coat in the car. He climbed the hill and sat down. He’d not been here since Polly died and now the place had a sinister air. He lay back and waited for the nausea to return. As it did he became drowsy and was soon in a state of semi-consciousness.

  -----------------------------

  The Awareness started to wake and was developing quicker than before. With less effort, it was finding it easier to reach out from its dimension to another place. The Awareness was not alone this time. There were other consciousnesses contending to be heard.

  -----------------------------

  Garraway sensed several consciousnesses simultaneously vying for his attention, like lots of radio stations fighting to be broadcast on the same wavelength. At first he was hearing unidentifiable psychobabble but as he lay on the hill with his eyes closed in a hypnagogic state of half sleep, half-awake, he was able to focus on what he was sensing.

  He was tuning into a distinct cerebral transmission. As he focused, his face contorted as if he was experiencing a low long drawn out electric current. A distant voice was materialising in his mind. The more he concentrated and fixated on what he was hearing, the clearer the voice became. It was the voice of a woman, gently calling his name. Instantly he knew who it was.

  He could hear Polly Ellis.

  His closed lids agitated as his eyes darted in all directions. Now he could see her face, smiling as if reaching out to greet him, but her smile was not a happy one, it was one which reflected guilt. He tried to speak, but didn’t know how. All he could do was listen.

  Polly was apologising for what she had done and the trouble that she had caused.

  She was saying sorry on behalf of Sarah for writing on the note and told him that she was with her when she had taken her life.

  Polly was telling Garraway that someone else wanted to speak with him, but was having difficulty being understood and she had promised that she would help the ‘someone else’ to be heard.

  As he was hearing and seeing Polly a second face was taking shape beside her. It was that of a girl, with dark hair. She had a pretty face with smooth olive skin. She opened her mouth and spoke, but he could not hear her words. His focus on her intensified but still no words could be heard. She looked troubled as she could not be comprehended.

  Polly’s face came back into focus and she told him that it was Sarah who he could see and that she wanted to thank him. Sarah ceased trying to talk and smiled.

  Polly told him that the ‘someone else’ was ready to speak, but like when Sarah spoke, he would not be able to hear the words or even see the face. The ‘someone else’ wasn’t yet able to be seen and heard as plainly as Polly.

  Polly would speak on behalf of the ‘someone else’.

  Garraway watched Polly’s face as she concentrated. Her head was slowly nodding. Sarah was still next to her, but her clarity was waning. He lay on the hill waiting for what was to come next.

  Polly closed her eyes as she began to relay the message and as she did her voice was so clear and distinct it was as if she was still alive and sitting beside him.

  -----------------------------

  “Do not give up on me as I will help you. You may not know my voice when you hear me speak, but when you hear my words you will know they are mine.”

  -----------------------------

  Garraway opened his eyes and sat up. Polly and Sarah had gone but the words Polly relayed were ringing in his ears.

  He sat on the hill and knew he had been hearing the words of Ben Walker. He climbed down the hill and tolerated the pain in his joints to which he was becoming accustomed. He made his way back to his car, walking like a man who was twenty five years older.

  Uncertain if he would be allowed to ‘officially’ investigate Ben Walker’s murder, or even if he would continue to be a detective, he knew that he would not give up until Ben’s killers were brought to justice.

  He didn’t know quite how he would do this, but felt sure that with Ben’s help, the work he had started would be finished.

  It was early evening when he returned home and the house was empty. As always, Joan was conspicuous by her absence. Feeling tired was something he was becoming used to. He climbed the stairs one step at a time whilst holding on to the bannister. He turned to walk into the bedroom, desperate to sleep, but stopped as he reached the bedroom door. He ached and felt tired to the core and decided to sleep in the spare room so not to be woken by Joan when she came to bed. He dropped like a stone onto the single bed and stared at the ceiling and wondered how he was going to solve this case with which he was becoming so unhealthily obsessed.

  He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter twenty eight

  The Awareness

  One of the many things the Awareness had no concept of, was time. It had no idea of the length of time that had passed since it evolved.

  It had developed basic emotions, urges and senses, although the senses did not allow it to see, hear, touch, taste or smell.

  It recognised that it was in a safe place and it was in an environment where there was unconditional love. It sensed happiness and that it was not alone.

  It had started to remember things. Although it could not see or hear, it could perceive images and sounds like memories recalled in a vague dream.

  It knew what it had been like to be happy, sad, loved and scared.

  The awareness was learning and it was learning fast.

  Chapter twenty nine

  Maria Jameson’s home

  7.30am

  Tuesday August 3rd 2010

  10 months later

  Christopher was waking up. Maria could hear him crying over the baby monitor. He had been sleeping in his own room since he was six months old.

  Just five more minutes please! She thought as she lay in her bed. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Pulling back the curtain she saw it was a fine August morning. Smiling, she listened to Christopher cooing in his room. She walked along her hallway whilst tying the belt on her dressing gown, then gently opening the door to her son’s room she was greeted by his beaming cheery face.

  “Hello my baby boy,” she said as she lifted him from his cot. His little legs kicked with delight when he saw his mother. Christopher replied with giggles and gurgles. Every morning was a wonder for Maria to see her son.

  In the past eleven months he had changed so much. His once white hair had darkened to fair brown, his once tiny body was filling out nicely and he was crawling around the flat. Last week she found him pulling himself up and teetering against the sofa. He still had the same piercing blue eyes as he did when he was born. Maria was pleased that his eyes hadn’t changed colour as he’d got older.

  Since he was born, every day had been a good one. He slept well, fed well and was a happy little chap and had got off lightly with the ailments that her friend’s children had been through like colic, eczema, coughs and colds.

  Soon Maria would be returning to work and this was something she was dreading. She had agreed with Westhouse to return three days a week starting next month. Her mother Claire was to look after Christopher when Maria was at work. This was something Claire was looking forward to.

  Maria carried Christopher into the lounge and placed him in his rocker while she went to the kitchen to make up his baby rice. Christopher had become attached to the Jelly Cat cuddly toy which Claire had bought him when he was born. It was a little grey cat which went with him everywhere. Claire had named the cuddly cat Misty and the name had stuck. />
  Maria could hear him crying from the lounge. She was getting to understand the different cries he made. He wasn’t crying because he wanted his breakfast, she recognised this as one when he wanted something else.

  She walked into the lounge with his feed and saw that he was upset because he had dropped Misty. Maria picked up the toy and gave it back to Christopher. As she tucked the cat under his arm he smiled at her and gurgled. The gurgle sounded different, as if he was saying something. As he gurgled and cooed he was making a ‘mmmm’ sound. Maria listened closely as he continued ‘mmmm’. He dropped the toy cat again and started crying. She handed the cat to him and clearly heard him say “Meee.”

  Is this his first word, was he trying to say mummy? thought Maria.

  Christopher held Misty close to him and smiled as he repeated “Meee, Meee, Meee.” Maria listened carefully. He wasn’t trying to say mummy or mama, he was trying to say Misty.

  He had said his first word and Maria was elated. Looking around her empty lounge, she found it lonely having no one to share the special moment with.

  She called her mother who was over the moon, and a little smug that Christopher’s first word was the name she chose for his favourite toy.

  Maria wanted to tell the world, but settled on calling Claire and her best friend Samreen as they had both been present when Christopher was born. Samreen was so happy for Maria and suggested a girl’s morning chilling in Coaster’s with coffee and a Danish pastry.

  She placed Christopher in his door bouncer whilst she had a quick wash and change. Gone were the days of long relaxing baths as she daren’t leave him alone too long without knowing he was safe. As she dressed she could hear him cooing, gurgling and saying “mee, mee” as he bounced up and down in the bedroom doorway.

  Chapter thirty

  Coaster’s Coffee Shop

  10.54am

  Samreen was waiting at the coffee shop when Maria arrived just before eleven o’clock. It was her day off and she had nothing planned, so time spent with Maria and her gorgeous Godson would be perfect. The best friends hugged and Samreen picked Christopher out of his buggy and gave him a cuddle. His face beamed.