When Evil Calls Your Name_a dark psychological thriller

by John Nicholl

  He swivelled and span despite his injuries, freeing himself from my fragile grip, and kneed me hard in the face, fracturing the bridge of my nose and leaving me close to unconsciousness with blood pouring from both nostrils. He looked down at me and sneered as he had so many times before.

  I watched as he hobbled across the kitchen, clutching his severely injured leg, and tied a tight tourniquet high on his thigh above his wounds, before limping towards the cellar steps with blood soaking into his trousers. He clawed repeatedly at his head as was his custom when stressed, and I knew in that instant that there was still hope.

  Just as he was approaching the bottom step, I lifted myself to my feet with the aid of an overturned chair, spat a mouthful of warm blood to the floor, and stumbled unsteadily in the direction of the steps, taking what seemed an age to hobble to the bottom. Come on, Cynthia, keep going, you can do it, one step at a time, you can do it.

  When I finally reached the cellar, the doctor was standing at a wall-mounted medicine cupboard, drawing a clear liquid into a syringe. I stood and stared like a mute statue as he turned away, seemingly oblivious to my presence. He approached the helpless boy with a cold and determined expression on his face. I had to do something, and quickly. It was now or never. As I stumbled in his direction with the knife held tightly behind my back, he stopped, suddenly aware of my presence. He turned towards me and stared, seemingly shocked that I’d dared to enter his secret domain; shocked that I hadn’t surrendered to his dominance; shocked that I dared challenge him at all.

  He shook himself as if waking from a trance, met my eyes, and smiled, mocking, cynical, dismissive. ‘Your timing couldn’t be better, my dear. You’re just in time to watch the little bastard breathe his last breath. And then, once you’ve helped me dispose of the corpse, it will be your turn to die. A welcome release from your worthless life, I expect. But, don’t think it will be over quickly. You’re going to suffer. I’ll make certain of that. I’ll take my time and indulge my inclinations until you beg for mercy. But don’t worry yourself my dear, that’s for later.’

  His words, as chilling as they were, strengthened my resolve. I’d never felt so scared, I’d never felt so alive and I’d never felt so ready to fight. I took one step forwards, then another, then another, and reached his side, just as he was about to insert the needle deep into the boy’s distended stomach. The doctor seemed strangely oblivious to my actions as I gripped the knife in both hands, lifted it high above my head and brought it down into his muscular back with all the destructive force my diminutive frame could muster.

  He dropped the syringe, lost his balance on the filthy, once white tiles, and hit the wall hard, before slumping to the ground. I’d done it, I’d actually done it, but it was far from over. As I stared down at him, he began to move, just slightly, ever so slightly, and I took my opportunity. I raised that razor-sharp knife above my head for a second time and brought it down into his upper chest with all my strength.

  There was a disconcerting sucking sound as I pulled the bloody blade from his body and stood above him. Was he dead? He was, wasn’t he? Surely he was dead. I was praying he was dead.

  I should have walked away at that precise moment. I should have rushed for the phone to summon help. But for some inexplicable reason, I had to know. I just had to know if he’d breathed his last. I knelt at his side and stared at his seemingly lifeless face for a full minute or more, before reaching out to feel for a heartbeat. Was it over? Was it really over? Surely it was over. Please let it be over! I had to be certain. Like it or not, I had to be certain.

  As I leant close to him, he opened one eye, quickly followed by the other, and snatched at my face with flashing teeth, only falling fractionally short of my nose. I had to be fast, I had to react quickly, and I did, thankfully I did. My adrenaline-fuelled reflexes served me well as I leapt backward, causing his attack to fail. As he reached up, grasping for my exposed throat, I jumped to my feet and brought the blade down forcibly, before repeating the process time and time again, until his face was a bloody mess, totally unrecognisable as the man who’d brought so much misery and torment into so many innocent lives. And then it suddenly dawned on me. This time it was over. It really was over. Exhaustion overtook me at that instant and I slumped to the floor next to his corpse.

  I don’t know how long I lay there amongst the gore. All I know is that he was dead, it really was over, and in that instant all was calm and contentment despite the horrors all around me. I was alive, the boy was alive, and our world was a better place. A safer place.

  I was unaware of my injuries and the knife held in my hand as I hurried up the steps in the direction of the hall. The knife fell to the floor and made me jump as I picked up the phone and dialled nine-nine-nine.

  I wandered into the lounge, exhausted, caked with blood and excrement, but truly elated. I lowered myself slowly to the floor and unlocked an old oak cupboard with bloody fingers that I noted were no longer trembling. I took my favourite LP from the record collection I hadn’t dared play since leaving Cardiff years before, and rose unsteadily to my feet. I smiled contentedly, took the record from its wonderfully colourful, atmospheric sleeve, lifted the record player’s clear plastic lid, placed the disc on the turntable, waited patiently for the needle to make contact with the black vinyl, and turned up the volume to maximum. I sat back down on the sumptuous soft woollen carpet with a newfound energy coursing through my body, and listened happily to the songs of my carefree youth, whilst waiting for the emergency services to arrive.

  45

  Mrs Martin met my eyes, held her gaze for a fleeting moment and smiled with warmth and affection. ‘I heard about the appeal. It’s fantastic news. I’m delighted for you.’

  She looked genuinely pleased for me. As excited as a child on Christmas morning. ‘Yeah, I don’t want to count my chickens and all that, but my legal team are really hopeful. They tell me I’ve got an eighty per cent plus chance of being released in the coming months. That’s as good as it gets, apparently.’

  ‘Pretty good odds, I’d say.’

  ‘It seems so. Fingers and everything else crossed!’

  ‘So where did they find the file?’

  ‘The new owners were renovating Galbraith’s study, and found it under the floor along with some other papers and several videotapes he was particularly keen to hide.’

  ‘And he’d recorded everything he did to you?’

  I nodded in contemplative silence before speaking again, ‘Yeah, point by point, in specific detail. He was always making notes, always scribbling in that notebook of his. The scheming manipulative bastard! It seems I was a long-term project. An ordinary, typical, young, carefree student to psychologically destroy day by day, and study along the way. He planned everything from the very start, every destructive move, every step, from the first time he saw me in Cardiff at the age of eighteen. I was a disposable lab rat in his eyes, and nothing more.’

  ‘And he killed Steven?’

  I felt a deep pang of regret as I nodded my head. ‘Oh yes, he ran him down in the street as if he were worthless. What a piece of work.’

  ‘And the girls, where did they fit in?’

  ‘He wanted boys for his own deviant purposes. The girls were an inconvenience.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘And of course, a wife and children helped give the misleading impression of happy middle-class respectability. We were camouflage. A mask behind which he could hide his true nature from the world.’

  ‘So the three of you served a dual purpose.’

  ‘It seems so. Readily available research material and effective concealment in one useful package. What a way to think. What a way to live your life.’

  She blew the air from her lips with a high-pitched whistle. ‘Psychopaths never fail to amaze me.’

  ‘He brought nothing but pain and misery into my life. I’m so very glad he’s gone.’

  ‘Hoorah to that!’

  ‘And all those u
nfortunate boys, it’s truly horrendous what they went through. No child should have to experience such horrors. The filthy bastard even maintained meticulous, alphabetically ordered files detailing the violence inflicted on each victim. There were numerous videos and photographs taken over the years. One child from a local children’s home died on film. If only he hadn’t gotten away with it for so long.’

  ‘How long was it?’

  ‘Over thirty years. It seems he began offending shortly after qualifying as a doctor.’

  ‘So he kept up the deception, helped some patients he saw and targeted others that met his victim profile. What a terrible betrayal of trust.’

  We nodded our mutual agreement before I spoke again, ‘Yeah, together with his accomplices. It seems there was a paedophile ring operating in the Caerystwyth area for generations. Galbraith was a lead figure before his arrest.’

  ‘Look, Cynthia, I have to ask. Did you ever find out what happened to Anthony and his mum?’

  I smiled, recalling our brief meeting the previous summer. ‘Oh, yes. Anthony’s mother, Molly, first visited me after I’d been here for just a few months. It was great to see her. She wanted to thank me in person for saving her son’s life.’

  ‘And you did, Cynthia. I’ve no doubt Galbraith would have killed him were it not for you. That’s something to be proud of. I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned her visits before now.’

  ‘I assumed you knew.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Molly threw her arms around me when we first met, before being ordered to sit by one of the guards. I like to believe we had an immediate affinity born of adversity. We both wept uncontrollably, but they were tears of shared empathy rather than sorrow. A release of painful pent-up emotions that were particular to us and only to us. This may seem ridiculous, but it was like greeting an old friend or family member rather than a stranger.’

  ‘It makes absolute sense. It’s not ridiculous at all.’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’

  ‘So how were they coping after their ordeals?’

  I smiled again, more convincingly this time. ‘They’d done even better than I could have hoped.’

  Mrs Martin swivelled in her seat, reached down behind her and switched on the kettle for the second time that afternoon. ‘Tell me more. It’s nice to discuss some positives for a change. Let’s make the most of it.’

  ‘Molly was barely conscious when her daughter found her battered and bleeding, but she regained consciousness after a couple of days on the intensive care ward and made surprisingly rapid physical progress once told her son was alive and safe. I think the news was just the tonic she needed, infinitely more effective than any medication the doctors could offer.’

  ‘And her injuries?’

  ‘She said her head and facial injuries gradually mended after surgery. I don’t know what she looked like before the attack, but she looked pretty good when I saw her, everything considered. The reconstructive surgeon did a tremendous job. The scars were barely visible by the time we met.’

  ‘Another courageous woman.’

  ‘You won’t hear me arguing. She actually grinned and told me that the dental implants, funded by her criminal injuries compensation payment, looked better than her original teeth. Talk about a positive attitude.’

  ‘And what about the psychological effects? They don’t always heal as quickly as the physical injuries, as you know only too well.’

  My mood became more sombre and I felt my facial muscles tighten as unpleasant memories played on my mind. ‘We’ve got a lot in common. Galbraith hovered between us like a third presence we couldn’t extinguish. Our world has become a dangerous place where monsters lurk in the shadows. He haunts our dreams and waking hours, sometimes appearing in our thoughts when we least expect him. Evil called our names and tainted our lives with a toxic stain that’s impossible to wash away completely, however much we’d like to.’

  ‘You speak with passion and eloquence.’

  ‘I think the writing’s reignited my love of language.’

  She smiled, but the expression quickly left her face. ‘Has Molly received counselling? Community services can be somewhat erratic at best.’

  ‘She saw a psychologist who specialises in working with victims of violence on a private basis.’

  ‘And it helped?’

  ‘It seems so. She still sees her from time to time, as far as I know.’

  ‘It sounds as if she’s in good hands.’

  I sipped my second cup of camomile tea and smiled warmly. ‘We both are.’

  Mrs Martin looked back at me and self-consciously adjusted her fringe. ‘Thank you so much, that’s very nice to hear. You’re too kind.’

  ‘There’s an unmistakable glimmer of light at the end of what’s been a very dark tunnel.’

  ‘Well, let’s ensure that light gets brighter and brighter and becomes a shining beacon of hope for everyone who sees it.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think it will.’

  ‘And what about Anthony?’

  I refocussed on the past again, and for an awful moment I saw him hanging from the bloody black steel shackles in that terrible place, that monument to evil.

  ‘Cynthia?’

  I opened my eyes wide, instantly back in the room as the image gradually faded and returned to the past. ‘Molly thanks God each and every day that Anthony doesn’t remember a thing from the time he went to bed on the night of his abduction to the time he woke up on the children’s ward days later. He awoke as if from a bad dream he couldn’t recall.’

  ‘In time he’s likely to require answers, but I guess that can wait until he asks those questions himself.’

  I nodded again, concurring with her assessment. ‘He’d lost a great deal of weight and strength, but he gradually recovered with the help of physiotherapy and his mum’s home cooking. He’s back to his old self apparently and playing rugby again.’

  ‘That’s really good to hear. Did Molly ever get back together with that ineffectual husband you mentioned? Not that it really matters one way or the other.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not a relationship made in heaven, but they were making a go of it the last time she wrote to me. She says she may even trust him again, given time.’

  ‘It can be strange how life works out sometimes.’

  ‘Galbraith’s dead, and seven of his fellow offenders received lengthy prison sentences. It could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘Things can always be worse.’

  I nodded once and smiled despite or perhaps due to the burdensome nature of the subject matter. ‘I want to say how grateful I am for your help Mrs Martin. You’ve been a lifesaver. Thank you so much.’

  She leant forwards, reached out and squeezed my hand tightly before releasing it and sitting back in her chair. ‘That’s wonderful to hear, Cynthia, but I think it’s about time you called me Mary.’

  ‘Ah, I got there in the end. Mary it is.’

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