Lost Souls

by Neil White

  I rubbed my head. My fingers were sticky and damp and my forehead felt cold. I was cut, maybe badly. The building swayed as I tried to stand. I thought I heard Laura’s voice.

  Then I could sense her next to me, saw the torch shine at me.

  ‘Are you okay, Jack?’

  I groaned back at her. My vision was still speckled red, but the sounds were coming back.

  ‘The bastard hit me,’ I said, my hand on my head. ‘Some kind of weapon.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I saw something flash towards me, but when I stepped back, I tripped in a hole in the floor. It didn’t catch me full on.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Groggy,’ I said, my voice hoarse, ‘but I’m still here.’

  I heard her sigh, and when she spoke her voice sounded thick. ‘I thought he’d hurt you, Jack,’ she said, and I felt her arms wrap around me, smelled her hair as she buried her head into my neck.

  I ran my finger down her cheek and kissed her on the top of her head. ‘If I could see you, I would get a better aim,’ I said, and then I started to stand. My ankle buckled slightly when I got up, but I could tell it was just sore, not broken.

  Then we both heard the shouting outside.

  ‘Who is that?’ I asked, suddenly alert.

  ‘Back-up.’

  ‘He’s getting away,’ I said. ‘He’s got Henry.’

  I stumbled towards the window and clambered onto the fire escape. It swayed under my feet.

  ‘Jack, come in. You’re not well enough.’

  I looked and saw a figure moving in the shadows, scurrying along the railway lines. I didn’t look back. I stepped onto the wall, the only way I could see to get there. I tried not to look down, feeling myself go dizzy every time I got a flash of the ground, and began to move quickly. I heard Laura curse me as she followed.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Thomas held on to the boy, his hand around his mouth, on his knees after the jump. He could feel small kicks against his shins so he clasped his hands around the boy’s jaw and squeezed hard.

  He peered into the moonlight, tried to see if anyone was there, looking for a shadow, some movement. There was nothing. He could hear the shouts behind, the scramble of feet.

  He looked down, saw the boy’s eyes look up at him, frightened, pleading, dark orbs above the gag.

  He moved his hand and looked away. He couldn’t stand it. He started to rock, squeezed the boy harder, felt him struggle in his grasp. He looked up at the stars. They seemed to move, like pulses of light, merging and swaying, the sky shimmering as he stared upwards.

  ‘Nearly over,’ he whispered. He felt tears in his eyes. ‘No more pain,’ he cooed.

  He looked back quickly, listened to the sounds of the chase again. The moon seemed to glow more than before, like a beacon. The shouts got louder.

  He stood up, tears running down his face, the boy writhing in his grip. He looked up at the stars once more, saw them swap positions, darting around the sky. He closed his eyes quickly, screwed them up tight, but he could still hear the shouts, the noise of hate, loud, strident, in pursuit.

  He opened his eyes, saw how the moonlight gave the edge of the viaduct a silvery glow, like a stardust fringe, the foil in a banknote. Then he saw the lights of Blackley in the distance, on the other side of the valley. Sanctuary. Escape.

  He felt suddenly calm. He looked down at the boy and smiled at him, hugged him, ignored the struggle and the kicks, kissed him gently on the top of his head.

  Then he started to run, heading across the viaduct.

  Sam crouched down against the viaduct wall, half-way along its length. The wall was only thigh-high, so he had to get down low as he tried to hide in the shadows by the railway lines. On the other side of the wall there was just a drop to the road below, a hundred feet, the cars like toys, the people on the street like tiny flickers, the lines of orange streetlights making the roofs look like sweet wrappers.

  He was scared. He remembered his dreams. They were why he was here, but he didn’t believe them. He was too logical. Law wasn’t about dreams, it was about facts, about rules, bold and clear. Evidence.

  But he had dreamt of this moment. Over and over. The shadows. The house. Most of all, he remembered how it ended. The fall.

  What if he was wrong, though? Where would Thomas take Henry, if not here? Or what if he made the fall come true by being there, a self-fulfilling prophecy?

  Then his stomach turned over as he saw the figure running towards him. It was Thomas King, he knew that. And there was something in Thomas’s arms, something small, moving. It was Henry. He could tell from the ruffle of his hair silhouetted by the streetlights behind them, from the cry he could hear above the footsteps. He fought to stop himself from bursting forward, but he knew he couldn’t. The viaduct was only two tracks wide, no space between the track and the wall; a sudden movement might make Thomas react. The drop was dizzying. If they went over, there was no chance of survival. Instead, he lay down flat, tried to make himself disappear into the shadows. He could sense Henry’s fear, and he fought against it. He would wait until they passed him so he could take Thomas out quickly. He thought back to his rugby days. Shoulder into the ribs, side-on, drive upwards.

  Then he felt something under his feet. A tingle, which grew into a rumble.

  He looked over his shoulder. He could see the lights in the distance. A train. It was on his side of the tracks.

  He would have to move, show himself.

  Or he could wait, just as long as he could.

  He closed his eyes and prayed, just a short one, the first real one for years. And then he tensed himself, ready to pounce.

  Thomas could only hear his own breaths in his ears, panting hard, his legs aching, the boy getting heavy.

  Then he saw the lights ahead, twin beams. He knew what they were. A train. Heading straight for him.

  He stopped and looked back. He saw the intruder from the house, cast in the streetlights on the other side of the tracks. Thomas recognised him now, his mind going back to the dream meeting. It was the reporter, the one invited by Eric. And from the blue lights, he realised the other person must be a police officer.

  He wasn’t going to be caught, not after all this. He wanted to be remembered for how he had brought families back together, not reviled from a prison cell.

  They were running towards him. And then he saw someone else appear on the railway lines behind them. As soon as he saw the figure, he knew who it was. He recognised him from the way he held his shoulders back as he walked, from the rigid swing of his arms.

  He stopped. Strength in Unity. Their unity. Maybe it was going to end the right way.

  But he sensed the anger in his father’s walk, the disapproval, another burst of his temper. He remembered what that was like. It came back to him in flashes. Blood on his face, his father’s hand coming down on him again and again, his own screams loud in his ears.

  He looked back to the train. It was almost on the viaduct now. He took deep breaths, wrapped both arms around the boy, felt the child’s heartbeat, heard the fear in his muffled sobs.

  It wasn’t meant to turn out like this.

  He turned away from his father and started to run.

  * * *

  My heart was pounding hard against my chest as we ran, Laura just ahead, panicking. I knew why: in the light of the oncoming train, I could see Thomas King, and there was something moving in his arms. Thomas was heading for the train, and running fast. He was silhouetted against the lights, all the time his shadow getting bigger.

  As we ran, I glanced to the side, saw the drop down to the street, the lines of orange lights. I felt dizzy, the roofs started to blur together. Too high, I told myself. I looked ahead, tried not to think of it, and saw the moon bright and large, the stars twinkling like rhinestones.

  We made good ground along the gravel, trying not to trip on the sleepers, but as we got closer to Thomas, the lights on the train got closer. I could feel the rumble in my shoes,
could hear the sound of the horn. Then, as I watched Thomas running forward, I realised that he wasn’t hoping to avoid the train. He was heading straight for it. This was it. The end. It would end like they all do, in that final message, the killer’s grand gesture.

  I began to shout his name, my voice hoarse, screaming. It was lost in the sound of the train.

  My breaths echoed loud in my head as I ran, as my feet pounded on the gravel. The ground was uneven so I was jolted, stumbled, but I carried on, desperate, urgent. Laura was in front of me, running hard, her long athletic legs covering the ground, avoiding the tracks.

  We were gaining on him. The boy looked limp in his arms, but still the train got nearer. He wasn’t slowing down.

  I pushed harder, Laura too. She was screaming, ‘Stop, Thomas, stop,’ but still he ran. She sounded frantic, scared. Thomas’s head was back now. He was going as fast as he could.

  I stumbled on a dip in the ground and went to my knees. Laura looked back for a second but I screamed at her to keep going. But it slowed her down a fraction, and Thomas stretched the gap by a few yards. I scrambled back to my feet and set off again. My breaths got faster, I was running as hard as I could, and I could feel the panic rising. He was going to let the train hit him, he was running at it to shorten the braking distance, Henry in his arms.

  The train lights were getting bigger as I ran, the bright yellow circles widening, the brakes screeching on the rails.

  ‘Thomas, don’t!’ screamed Laura.

  He didn’t look back. He had the boy clasped into his chest, I could see his little legs kicking frantically, scared, getting ready for the collision.

  I could hear a noise, and I thought it was Thomas. But then I realised it was Laura, screaming as she braced herself for the hit.

  Sam could hear the train getting nearer behind him. The lines hummed with its approach. Thomas was still running towards him, the lights from the train reflecting off Henry’s face, white and scared, his eyes wide.

  Sam flashed a look over his shoulder. It was close, hurtling towards him. He looked back and saw the gleam in Thomas’s eye. He was looking straight forward, at the train. Sam almost stepped out of the shadows, but he had to wait.

  Thomas was stumbling as he ran, and Sam thought he heard him scream.

  The rumble under Sam’s feet became stronger. Thomas was twenty yards away, getting closer all the time. The train sounded its horn, the brakes squealed. It was close, he thought he could feel its draught. The sound of the horn filled his head, but all the time he was watching Thomas. Ten yards away, almost on him. He saw him raise an arm to his face, bracing himself for the crash. He couldn’t hear anything, just the wheels along the rails behind him, screaming at him. Henry’s eyes were wide with fear, bright in the headlights.

  Sam stood up from his crouch. He caught a flash of the train’s headlights in his eyes, bright and blinding. He ran at Thomas. His legs pumped hard into the gravel, screaming, teeth bared.

  He felt his shoulder slam into Thomas’s ribs, felt them crunch, heard him grunt with pain, with surprise. His arms wrapped around Henry. His legs kept on driving, sliding in the gravel. And then they were falling.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Thomas King was still on his back when we caught up with him, the train now disappearing into the distance. He was wincing, holding his ribs. Sam was near him, holding tightly on to Henry. The boy’s little arms were clutching Sam hard, his head buried into his father’s neck.

  ‘It’s okay,’ whispered Sam, ‘it’s okay.’

  ‘It’s all over, Thomas,’ said Laura, her hands on her knees as she leaned over him, speaking in between deep breaths. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of Jess Goldie, and multiple abductions of children this summer.’ She stood up straight, sucked in lungfuls of air, all of it clean and crisp, straight off the Pennines. ‘You have the right to remain silent. But if you do not mention when questioned…’

  ‘Give it a rest,’ he snapped. He rolled over and gasped. ‘That bastard has broken my ribs. Aren’t you going to arrest him?’

  Laura grabbed Thomas by the arm and shoved her knee into his back. ‘No,’ she said, and then shrugged. ‘Sue me.’

  I heard a crunch of gravel next to me. As I looked, I saw it was Jimmy King. He was out of breath, his eyes wild.

  ‘What the fuck…?’ he started to say, but he seemed to run out of words.

  When Thomas saw who it was, he looked back at the ground, his face jammed into the gravel. He stayed like that for a few seconds as Laura tried to contact Pete on the radio, but then he recovered and looked up at his father. ‘What next for us?’ he asked, grunting as Laura pressed harder.

  Jimmy flinched but said nothing.

  ‘Looks like there isn’t an “us” any more,’ I intervened, my words coming out between gasps as I sucked in air.

  Jimmy whirled round and looked at me, his lip curled in distaste but lost for words.

  ‘Looks like it’s just you now, Thomas,’ I said. ‘Strength in Unity?’ I laughed, mocking Jimmy, trying to provoke him into a quote. ‘Only goes so far.’ I waited for Jimmy to intervene, to maybe get physical, but he didn’t. I saw confusion in his eyes.

  I knelt down to Thomas’s face and spoke softly. ‘Tell me, what was it all about?’

  ‘Not now, Jack,’ Laura warned me.

  I didn’t listen. ‘Why not now?’ I continued, my voice harsh. ‘What’s next, Thomas? A few months of shots of you in handcuffs, maybe one taken through the prison-van window. You’ll be a demon, Thomas: the child snatcher, a cold-blooded murderer.’

  Laura glared at me.

  ‘Speak to me, Thomas,’ I yelled. ‘Tell me why.’

  ‘Do you think I care what the public think?’ he replied, spitting the words out. ‘Moralising idiots. They’ll demonise me, but let their own children roam the streets all night, taking drugs and drinking. I used to see them in the surgery, begging for their methadone script or for a sick note for the social, their children skinny and miserable next to them. And you call me the demon.’

  ‘Until your healing hands saved them?’ I queried. ‘I can understand that. You didn’t harm any children, not on purpose, but what about Jess, and Eric? Was that to keep them from finding you out?’

  ‘I saved more than I lost,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘Look, they would have stopped me. Would you have wanted that? Go and ask the children how they feel now. Happy, I reckon.’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  I looked round. It was Jimmy, his face white, his fists clenching and unclenching.

  Thomas glared at his father. ‘What’s wrong? Feel sorry for the deluded?’ Then he laughed. ‘They actually believed they dreamt the future.’

  ‘Didn’t they?’ I said. ‘They predicted their own deaths?’

  Thomas shook his head and then spat the words out. ‘No, they created their own deaths. I was going to kill them anyway; they were getting too close. They just provided the method.’

  I thought back to Eric, and to his daughter, her tears, and held on to my anger.

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘You were a doctor. You could have done so much good.’

  Thomas tried to sit up, but Laura pushed him back down. ‘Do you know any doctors?’ he asked. ‘They want to be the difference between life and death. Some choose life. Some choose death. It’s nothing new. Go to the history books. You’ll find doctors who kill all the time, so stop judging.’ He looked back at Laura. ‘So Supercop is going to take me in now?’ He seemed happy. ‘Just tell everyone that I made lives better.’

  I stood up and turned to Jimmy. ‘Some dynasty you’ve built here, Mr King. Would you care to comment?’

  Jimmy stepped up to me. I could see the rage in his face, his features screwed up, his eyes glaring at me. I met his gaze, wanting to provoke a reaction.

  But before he could react, we both heard a noise behind us. It was Laura. Thomas had turned her over, thrown her onto the tracks, and he was scrabbling away, heading for the low viadu
ct wall, screeching, expecting to go over the edge.

  Laura reacted first. She ran at him, leaping forward, rugby-style, her arm outstretched. She clipped his heel and he stumbled. He tried to scuttle away but Laura scrambled forward and grabbed his arm. They were just a few feet away from the edge. He turned around and swung a punch at Laura, catching her in the face. She grunted in pain, but still held on. Thomas tried to get to the edge again. I ran to help and grabbed his other arm. My mind was racing, panicking. I knew that Laura would hold on.

  ‘Let him go,’ I hissed at Laura.

  He thrashed around, his eyes wide, desperate to get to the edge. He was strong, and we were dragged with him. The wall was low and I saw where the ground gave way to empty space, where it fell away to the road far below, and my stomach lurched.