Desperation Point

by Malcolm Richards

  Just a few more minutes and he’d be able to save Carrie and put an end to the horrors of Burnt House Farm.

  A sign shot past him on his left: Porth an Jowl Holiday Park, 100 Metres. He passed the school. Briar Wood stood like a shadowy fortress up ahead on the right.

  He was almost there. He was going to make it.

  And then his vision blurred so badly he could no longer see the road. Aaron’s fingers slipped from the wheel. The car skidded.

  No! Not yet!

  He shot his hands back up and regained his grip on the wheel. The car veered to the side, heading straight for Briar Wood. He was losing control. He was going to crash.

  Aaron slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, filling the air with scorched rubber. He flew forward. His seatbelt caught, yanking hard against his chest. He was done. He couldn’t drive any further. He had to find another way.

  Wrenching open the car door, he freed himself of the seatbelt and climbed outside. He could hear the Land Rover coming up behind. Diving back into the car, he grabbed his camera bag and his phone from the seat, then stumbled forward, There was no time to get to Carrie. He'd have to try and call her instead.

  Behind him on the road, the Land Rover was slowing down. Staggering forward, Aaron entered the darkness of Briar Wood. As he moved, he fumbled with the phone, squinting his eyes as he tried to locate Carrie’s number. Behind him, he heard car doors open then slam shut. The line connected. He pressed it to his ear, waiting for her to pick up.

  “Come on!” he hissed. The call rang off and connected to an automated voicemail message.

  Now he heard voices, footsteps.

  Aaron hung up. Perhaps he was already too late. Perhaps there was nothing he could do.

  But someone else could.

  Now the footsteps were coming up behind him through the trees. As his own steps became more faltering, as bright light splashed through the trees and the bitter taste of sea salt pricked his tongue, Aaron dialled another number.

  45

  NAT WAS AT HER DESK, hunched over her sketchpad, headphones on, The Kills screaming in her ears. She had finished her last beer a few minutes ago. Now, she smiled with wicked glee as her pencil moved up and down the page. She’d drawn a book cover. The title was: The Case of the Big Fucking Loser—A Sulky Winters Mystery. Below she’d sketched a perfectly rendered image of Aaron Black having his throat torn out by a feral-looking boy.

  Her fingers aching, Nat dropped the pencil and spent a minute clenching and unclenching her hand. She wished she had more beer. Or something stronger. She had reached a frustrating line of inebriation where drunk wasn’t enough. She needed obliteration. She needed her mind to go as blank as a sheet of her sketchpad. She was no longer angry, or at least, she was less angry, but now she was feeling desperately alone.

  When she got to London—and she would get there if it killed her—she would reinvent herself. Maybe change her name, make up a past that didn't involve years of physical and mental abuse at the hands of her parents, or being shipped from foster home to foster home like a misdirected parcel.

  When she got to London, she would morph into a different person. Maybe even dress differently, or more extreme. Whoever she decided to become, one thing was certain—she would be erasing all trace of Natalie Tremaine. Sometimes it was the only thing you could do to become who you really are.

  Finished with stretching her fingers, she picked up the pencil again. She set back to work, graphite scratching onto paper, music blaring in her ears. Then a flash of light made her look up. Her phone was vibrating on the desk, its screen glowing.

  Nat glanced at the caller ID. Immediately, her anger returned.

  Aaron Black was calling her. She glared at his name on the screen. She clenched her jaw and flared her nostrils.

  Pulling off the headphones, she picked up the phone. Her thumb hovered over the answer key.

  She was tempted to give him a piece of her mind, to yell at him. Tell him to go to hell or jump off a cliff.

  But what good would it do? Screaming at him as she’d stormed out of his hotel room hadn’t made her feel better. Getting drunk hadn’t made her feel better.

  To answer the phone now and hurl more abuse would only open her up for more hurt. It would leave her feeling vulnerable and weak. Besides, it was stupidly late. Who the hell did Aaron Black think he was?

  Nat dropped the phone on the desk and let it ring out as she picked up her pencil and returned to her drawing. She was done with people taking advantage of her. People like Aaron Black. People like Jago Pengelly who had once been her best friend.

  No, from now on, Nat could only rely on herself. From now on, she was on her own; just like she always had been.

  46

  DARKNESS ENVELOPED THE hall. Flipping a light switch, Carrie blinked away black spots from her eyes. She hovered by the door, reluctant to enter her own home. Next to her, PC Evans put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “There’ll be some mess,” she said. “The CSI team are thorough but they’re not exactly tidy. You may see a lot of fingerprint powder. Has someone spoken to you about hiring a crime scene clean up team? Unfortunately, it’s not something we’re qualified to do. . .”

  Carrie wasn’t listening as her eyes wandered up the stairs. It was almost surreal to think that just hours ago, Cal had been inside and had done terrible things.

  “I just need to get some clothes for my mother,” she said.

  PC Evans nodded.

  Carrie took the stairs, with the police officer close behind. They reached the landing. All the bedroom doors were open. Fine powder lay in drifts. Carrie stood still, drawn to Melissa’s room by a magnetic pull. Through the gap, she saw her mother’s blood still on the wall and floor.

  Nausea climbed Carrie’s throat. She wanted to leave this house and never come back. But she forced herself forward, entering Cal’s old bedroom.

  While PC Evans waited on the landing, Carrie grabbed Sally’s nightwear and threw it into a duffel bag. Then she went into her own bedroom to fetch clean clothes for herself.

  When she was done Carrie stepped back and stared at the bed she used to share with Dylan. A deep ache rose from the pit of her stomach. She forced it back down, scared that if she succumbed to it now, if she let all those hurt feelings in, then she would never climb out of the hole. And she had to, for her children’s sake; even if she never saw them again.

  Letting out a shuddering breath, Carrie picked up the duffel bag. Switching off the bedroom light, she headed back down the landing.

  PC Evans was gone.

  Carrie stopped outside Melissa’s bedroom.

  “PC Evans?” she called.

  The house felt suddenly empty. Perhaps she’d gone downstairs. Carrie had been so lost in her thoughts that it was possible she hadn’t heard the police officer leave. She called out the officer’s name again. When no answer came, she gripped the stair rail and made her way down to the ground floor.

  Carrie stood in the hallway, staring at the front door, wondering if the officer had gone outside. But she wouldn’t have just left her here alone in the house.

  Something moved behind her.

  Carrie spun around, staring down the hall into the darkness of the kitchen.

  “Hello? PC Evans?”

  Something was wrong. She felt it in the air like electricity. She suddenly wondered if Cal was here, if he’d come back. A memory of him flashed in her mind, from those few precious days when he’d first returned, and she’d found him lying on his bed and immersed in a comic book, looking even if for the briefest of moments like a regular teenage boy.

  “Cal?” she whispered.

  Her heart began to pound. A voice in her head told her to turn around. To walk right out the front door and keep going.

  She stared into the kitchen. Someone moved in the shadows.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  The person in the kitchen grew very still.

  Panicking, Car
rie spun around to face the front door. She sucked in a sharp, shocked breath.

  “Who are you?” she managed to say.

  A girl was standing in front of her. She was young, with long dark hair and huge pupils that filled her eyes. There was blood in her hair. And she was smiling.

  Carrie took a step back. She noticed the hunting knife in the girl’s hand. It was slick with blood.

  Slowly, Carrie backed away. Then she remembered the shape in the kitchen. She turned.

  A boy, maybe a year or two older than the girl, blocked her way. He was grinning at her, those same dark pupils reflecting the hallway light, the same knife with the serrated teeth gripped in his hand.

  “Who are you?” Carrie cried. “The police are right outside!”

  The girl stepped forward. The boy, too.

  “We are the Dawn Children,” the girl said, a wicked smile on her lips. “We are your salvation.”

  Carrie swung her head from side to side. Her eyes found the living room door. She could dive in there, try and get to the window, climb through or call for help.

  There was a moment of pure stillness, as if the world had fallen silent, as if all life had been drained from it.

  Carrie ran for the door.

  The boy and girl were on her before she could even reach the handle.

  47

  “DAMN YOU, NAT!”

  Aaron was out of options. And he was out of land.

  Stumbling from Briar Wood, he found himself at Desperation Point, the wind whipping his face and blowing hair into his eyes. Above him, the lighthouse beam sliced through the clouds. The roar of the ocean filled his ears. Far below, waves crashed over razor sharp rocks.

  His phone still clutched in his hand, Aaron stumbled toward the lighthouse. A small house was attached to the base of the main tower. The lights were on. A Range Rover was parked outside.

  Lurching forward, Aaron hammered on the lighthouse keeper’s door. “Please!” he cried. “I need your help! You need to call the police!”

  He waited. No one came to the door. He hammered again, smearing blood over the wood. Moving over to the window, he peered through the net curtains. A cramped living area was inside, containing a sofa and a TV, and a bed in the corner. The room was empty.

  Aaron staggered back, tripping over his feet. And then he saw Cal emerge from the trees. Moments later, a second figure appeared.

  It was the man. The leader of the cult.

  His head spinning, his energy ebbing from him, Aaron headed to the lighthouse door. He raised a hand and brought it down on the wood. But not hard enough for someone inside to hear.

  He could feel his energy seeping away. All he wanted to do was to lie down on the hard ground and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

  Cal was racing toward him.

  Aaron staggered to the Range Rover and clawed at the doors. He slipped, landing heavily on the ground. His phone flew away from his hand and under the vehicle. Aaron pulled himself to his feet and tried the doors again. They were all locked.

  And now Cal had cleared half the space between them. He would be on him very soon.

  Aaron stumbled back, getting closer and closer to the cliff edge.

  Cal was coming nearer. His head was down, his dark eyes forward, his arms pumping at his sides.

  The world was spinning. The wind all powerful. Aaron glanced over his shoulder and saw the ocean rise like a lion on its hind legs, then come crashing down. He heard the thud of Cal’s feet on the ground.

  Aaron turned to face him. There was nowhere left to go.

  “Cal, wait!” The man’s voice was powerful, booming, like the voice of God. Cal slid to a halt. He was a metre away from Aaron, his jaws pulled back in a predatory grin, his eyes glistening with intoxicating bloodlust.

  Aaron teetered on the cliff edge, his camera bag clutched to his chest, his blood seeping into the ground. He cast his failing eyes up at the lighthouse, watching the beam turn.

  The man came up beside Cal and placed a hand on his shoulder. Cal lowered his head, took a step back. For a while, the man stood very still, staring at Aaron, a strange, unreadable smile on his lips.

  Then he said, “I’m curious. Exactly who are you?”

  Aaron gulped for air. The roar of the ocean was deafening.

  “My name,” he gasped, “is Aaron Black. What’s yours?”

  “My name is of no importance. Not to someone like you.”

  “Someone like me? Someone who knows exactly what you’ve been doing on your so-called farm.” He grinned. “That’s right, asshole. I saw everything and I’m going to expose you to the world.”

  The man smiled. “Is that so? Those are very big promises for someone who’s bleeding to death. Someone who probably won’t be with us for much longer at all, in fact. Tell me, Mr. Black, what is it that you think you saw?”

  “I saw you murder that man,” Aaron breathed. “I saw all those children. You abducted them. You’re brainwashing them, training them to be like Cal. Training them to kill.”

  The man in front of him smiled.

  “I murdered no one. My hands were not on the blade,” he said. “And I’ve abducted no one. Half of those children I fathered myself. Everyone you saw in the barn is there of their own free will. If they wish to leave they only need open the door and walk out. You see, we’re a family, Mr. Black. We take care of our own. If one of us is lost, we help them find their way. If one of us strays, we guide them back onto the right path. You may not understand what I’m trying to achieve with our family, but that’s because you’re not part of the family. You’re part of the problem. You’re what’s wrong with this world.”

  “And you’re what? The solution?” Aaron hawked and spat blood on the ground. “Just because you weren’t holding the knife doesn’t mean you’re not as guilty. You made Cal kill that man.”

  “No one can make anyone do something they don’t want to do. If Cal killed that man it was because he chose to.”

  “Right. So, you didn’t threaten to have Cal’s mother killed if he didn’t do it? You didn’t send that van here?”

  The dizziness was getting worse. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand up. Where was the damn lighthouse keeper? Why wasn’t anyone coming to his rescue?

  The smile had faded from the man’s lips. His cold eyes moved down Aaron’s body until they were resting on the camera bag.

  “What have you got there?”

  Aaron clenched the bag. “Mind your own business.”

  In one fluid movement, the man snatched the bag up and tossed it into the abyss.

  “Now it’s the ocean’s business,” he smiled.

  The world was growing dark. Time was slipping away from Aaron. Everything was fading. It couldn’t all be for nothing. He couldn’t die here having saved no one! But he’d tried to call Carrie to warn her and she hadn’t picked up. He’d tried to call Nat and she’d ignored him. What else could he do?

  His eyes fell on Cal. Of course.

  “Your mother could be dead while you’re standing here,” he said to him. The ground swayed beneath his feet. The world turned white, then red. “If she dies then you’re just as guilty. If she dies it’s because you didn’t save her.”

  A gust of wind blew up from the ocean, knocking Aaron to his knees. He looked up at the figures standing over him and saw Cal stare uncertainly at the man.

  “Your mother’s safe,” the man said. “He’s trying to confuse you.”

  “How do you know, Cal?” Aaron was cold. So cold. And yet at the same time he felt nothing. “Did you hear him call them off? How do you know they’re not there, right now, murdering your mother?”

  Cal was staring over his shoulder now, at the trees, then back at the man. The bloodlust in his eyes had gone, replaced with something else.

  Something that looked to Aaron’s fading vision like fear.

  “Cal,” the man said, holding up his hands. “She’s safe.”

  “You don’t know that, Cal.
How can you trust him after what he made you do?”

  “Cal, I’m telling you she’s fine.”

  But Cal was shaking his head now, his body pulling toward Briar Wood.

  “You still doubt me,” the man said, his voice wounded. “After everything I’ve done for you and you still doubt me. Believe me when I say that your mother is—”

  Cal turned on his heels. He sprang forward, racing back toward the trees.

  Aaron watched him get smaller, then melt into the shadows, then disappear into darkness. Now he could die for something. Now he could die for saving Carrie. Swaying on his knees, he smiled at the man.

  “I may not know your name,” he said. “But I know who you are.”

  The man leaned over him, fury burning in his eyes. “I am Jacob. Saviour of the Dawn Children. Protector of innocence.”

  With the last of his energy, Aaron threw his head back and laughed. “You think you’re the Cornish Charles Manson, but your Grady Spencer’s son. And you may think you’re going to solve the world’s problems by killing a few bad men, but really, you’re no better than your father.”

  Jacob leaned in close, his teeth mashing together.

  “My father was a monster. A murderer of innocents. He made me help him. He made me kill with him. But I saw the light. I saved Cal from him. I saved all my children from monsters just like him.”

  “But you didn’t stop him, did you? You didn’t turn your father in. Because no one can make anyone do something they don’t want to do, isn’t that what you said? And right now, asshole, I want to make sure you don’t hurt any of those kids again.”

  Aaron lunged out. One hand grabbed Jacob by the front of his shirt. The other wrapped around his neck.

  Gravity did the rest.

  Terror dawned in Jacob’s eyes. His hands shot up and gripped Aaron’s wrists. Then they were toppling over the edge of the cliff.

  They dropped like rocks; Jacob shrieking at the top of his lungs, Aaron calm and quiet.

  The men flew apart.

  Jacob’s body slammed into the side of the cliff, then went spinning away like a pinwheel.