“Will you need the whistle?” Paul stopped and called out. “Just in case...”
“No, I’ve got a big mouth anyway,” Vince said. “And I don’t like sharing stuff like that. You never know what you could catch.”
Paul retreated back to his place and Vince stood by the gate with no weapon of any kind in his hand.
He looked around the street and smiled as he remembered the first time he walked the street, before it was blocked off by the concrete wall. He had just killed some of the Murphys and he was told by some residents, as well as John Lincoln himself, that he was welcome back at Colwyn Place anytime. It was a few months ago now, but it felt like years.
A buzzing noise could be heard. It seemed to be too timid to belong to a car and Vincent Kindl wasn’t bothered as the sound grew louder. He almost raised a smile when the sound convinced him that it was from a moped. There wasn’t too many of them around, and Vince was convinced that they were about to get a visit from a resident from Stafford Hospital. He then screwed his eyes and thought that it was a bit early for a visit, and then wondered why he could only hear one engine. Surely, even if it was Drake, he wouldn’t be travelling alone.
Despite having no weapon on him, Vince felt relaxed and stood by the gate, almost with his face pressed against it, looking to his right and trying to see who the visitor was going to be.
Unless it was just somebody passing by? Very rare that that happened.
A moped could be seen emerging from around the corner, and Vince was confused to see Drake’s right hand man slowing down and stopping by the gate.
“Frank?” Vince scratched at his face and was puzzled.
Frank smiled and raised his hand, asking Vince how he was. He parked up the moped and headed for the gate.
“Something happened to Drake?” Vince asked immediately.
Frank looked at Vince confusingly and wondered how he knew. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
Vince told him, “You’re on your own and it’s early.”
Frank exhaled out and put his hand inside his jacket. He pulled out a piece of paper and folded it so he could push it through one of the gaps in the wiry fence. Vince took it and held it in his left hand.
“Is he...?”
Frank nodded. “Had to put him down myself.”
Vince looked confused and Frank told him that Drake had turned.
“Turned? How?”
“One of the dead managed to gnaw at his fingers when you lot got caught up in the jeep.” Frank nodded over at the black jeep that had no windows left.
“Fuck.”
“I know,” Frank said sadly.
“Why didn’t he say something straight away. I could have—”
“We’d already discussed this,” said Frank. “I’m not entirely sure he was even that bothered.”
Vince looked down at the piece of paper and said, “Did he write this before...?”
He looked up and could see Frank nodding.
“I better go,” said Frank.
“What about...?” Vince stopped himself from finishing the sentence.
Frank knew what he meant and said, “It’s okay. From hereon in you’ll be dealing with me. I’ll come up tomorrow and we’ll try and finish what Drake started with you guys and Gail. I’ll be seeing you.”
“Bye.”
Frank turned the bike in a U shape and left the same way he arrived, leaving Kindl dumbstruck, holding the piece of paper.
He gazed into nothingness for a few seconds until a set of feet disturbed his self-hypnosis. He lifted his head to see Karen wearing just a long t-shirt that went down just above her knees. She had obviously just woken up and asked Vince about the noise she heard.
“It was a moped,” Vince said.
“A moped?”
“One of Drake’s men.”
Karen could tell by Kindl’s face that it was bad news. “Is Drake dead?”
Vince nodded. “One of the Rotters managed to get to him when they attacked the car.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I know.”
“I suppose that explains why he was in a weird mood and was desperate to get back.”
He handed her the piece of paper and said, “He wrote this before he died.”
Vincent never read the letter himself, unbeknown to Karen, and watched her face as she read the words that Drake had written whilst he was dying. Vince could see she was becoming emotional, but no tears fell from Karen’s eyes and she managed to hold it together.
“He was a bit of a dick,” she said, folding the piece of paper up and placing it into her pocket, “but he didn’t deserve that.”
“I’m sure he was a good man when his family were alive,” Vince said. “Look how it affected Paul.”
“So is that Frank in charge then?”
Vince nodded.
“Shame about Drake.” Karen looked at Vince and managed to produce a thin smile. “He kind of reminded me of you.”
“Me?”
“You were quite brutal in the beginning, and, like Drake, you used to be a bit near the knuckle with some of your comments. I suppose you still are, but you grew on me.”
The two fell silent and a sadness enshrouded them. One death of a person they knew reminded them of other deaths that had occurred in the last four months.
“There’s some people you click with straightaway,” Vince said.
“I know what you mean.” Karen released a sad sigh and puffed out her cheeks, fighting back the tears. “You were upset about Jack Slade, wasn’t you?”
“I liked him.” Vince nodded, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “I think he had a bit of a drink problem, but he was a good guy and we got on.”
“Shaz was a hard one to take for me.”
“That was a bad night all round, with my camp getting attacked. I can still see the images of Robin Barton with a chainsaw and that silly bastard Geoff shooting a gas canister and the two old girls, May Worthington and Gina Harrison, screaming as they burned to death in their caravan.”
“It was good while it lasted. We couldn’t have stayed at your dad’s cabin forever.”
The words were starting to dry up and Karen told Vince that she was going over to her house.
She was going to wait until Pickle woke up, and then deliver him the bad news.
She stepped inside and opened the living room window, as the place was becoming a little fusty.
She sat on the sofa and started to read the letter again.
She left it on the arm of the couch and had a little cry to herself.
Seventeen minutes later, Pickle made his way downstairs and could see a solemn Karen Bradley sitting on the couch.
She handed him the letter.
Chapter Fifty-Four
A smile developed on the face of Paul Dickson as he watched from afar. He was in the field and opposite the gate that was the entrance to Colwyn Place.
When he heard the sound of the moped earlier, his inquisitiveness and boredom made him investigate the noise. When he saw one single rider turning left at the Stafford Road and going by the burnt out pub and over the bridge, he couldn’t leave it there. He had to find out if the visitor was stopping at Colwyn Place or not.
With the straps of his rucksack over both of his shoulders, he ran out of the woods and over the bridge. Once he cleared a bend on the country road, his eyes clocked a moped and a man talking to someone through the gate.
Dickson jumped over a small fence, to his right, and crouched down and snuck through the field until he was opposite the gate that protected the front of Colwyn Place.
He could see the back of the rider, but wasn’t close enough to make out what was being said to the individual that was a member of the street where Dickson had lived for a few weeks. Over the shoulder of the man, he spotted Vince’s face and Paul Dickson smiled but was confused by his presence. What was Vince doing by the gate? Wasn’t he now staying at Stafford Hospital? That’s what Karen told him
when they briefly met in the woods a couple of weeks back. She said that they had called a truce with Drake and everything was okay.
When the biker departed, Dickson could see Karen talking to Vince and neither one looked happy.
It wasn’t even six in the morning and Vince and Karen were at Colwyn Place. It didn’t make sense
This wasn’t a visit, Dickson thought. For whatever reason, they were back.
Paul could see Karen disappear into a house and only Vincent Kindl was left in the street.
Dickson had no idea what to do. He had a gift for them, and was now thankful that he didn’t have a six-mile trek to Stafford to drop it off. If Paul hadn’t have followed the moped, he could have travelled to Stafford for nothing.
Dickson stood up and his feet waded ten yards through the long grass and climbed over the fence to be on the country road. He looked to his left and then right, satisfied that the road was clear. He was now behind the gate, Kindl with his back to him, and Dickson found it amusing that he was inches away from Vince, albeit both men separated by the gate, and he had no idea.
He cleared his throat, making Vince spin round and releasing a profanity because of the fright he got.
“You can’t keep away, can you?” Vince smiled, trying not to look too surprised.
“I’m leaving today,” Dickson said. “For good.”
“We’ve heard that before.”
Dickson never responded. He took off his rucksack and placed it by the side of his feet.
Vince looked at Paul and could see he looked malnourished and his beard was overgrown.
“You look like shit, Paul,” Vince said. “You should come in and let us feed you.”
“So you’re back here for good?”
“Yes, we are,” Vince looked at Paul with sadness. “We never really bonded, did we? The way you did with Pickle and Karen. I mean, we got on, but…”
“I’m not an easy person to get to know.”
“Shame, really. We have some things in common. We’ve both lost sons.”
“In different circumstances.”
“We still lost them.”
Dickson never responded and Vince decided to continue talking.
“You know, Kyle and I had a chat once, back at my old camp. He told me that—”
“That’s now ancient history.” Paul Dickson interrupted rudely. He sighed and said, “Get Karen and Pickle out here. I need to speak to them.”
Vince ignored the man’s rudeness and obediently nodded. He left the gate unattended and walked over to 10 Colwyn Place and knocked the door.
Minutes later, Karen and Pickle stepped out and walked alongside Vince as the three individuals headed for the gate. All three slowly recognised who was standing behind the gate and only Karen had managed a smile.
Vince opened the gate, but Dickson never set foot in the street. He remained where he was and never moved his feet.
“You can’t seem to keep away,” she said.
Paul smiled. “I’ve already had a similar conversation with Vince on that very same subject.”
“What is it, Paul?” Pickle asked. “Vince said that yer going away, for good this time.”
“That’s right.” Dickson nodded.
“Do yer want to come in and have somethin’ to eat? Yer certainly look like yer need it.”
Paul shook his head and said, “I’ve got something to give you, before I go.”
“How did yer know we were back here?”
“Long story. It was just luck.” Dickson couldn’t be bothered to go into the story of following the man on the moped.
Vince, Pickle and Karen all looked at one another confusingly as Dickson stood and smiled.
“Remember that guy Stephen?” said Karen, trying to break the silence “He was killed last week, and we had a bit of other trouble, so we decided to move back.”
“I helped him out of that ditch, but I didn’t know that, but I did know about Stephanie and some others.”
“How did yer know?” Pickle questioned.
“A little bird told me.” Dickson pulled out a carrier bag from the rucksack. “That’s why I’m here.”
“What do yer mean?”
“I have a present for you.”
“A present?”
“I was going to drop this off at Stafford Hospital, but your move has saved me the bother.”
Dickson handed Karen the bag. She took a look inside and quickly turned away, passing it to Vince, who quickly passed it to Pickle after having a quick glance at the severed head of Manson.
“I heard in great detail what happened from the horse’s mouth,” Dickson began, almost robotically. “He told me everything. We bumped into each other and we talked. I think he thought he had found a companion. And to tell you the truth, so did I.”
“Even told yer that he raped Stephanie before killin’ her?” Pickle asked.
The look on Paul Dickson’s face suggested to Pickle that that little detail had been left out by Manson when the two of them were conversing.
“It’s clean,” Dickson said, referring to the head. “I let it bleed out, and then I dipped it into a stream a few times before bagging it.”
“Yer a crazy fucker, Paul,” Pickle laughed. “But it’s hard not to like yer. Yer’ll always be one o’ us.”
“We can have a word with Terry.” Karen turned to Pickle. “We could bring him back.”
“Not gonna happen,” Paul interjected. “I’ve told you. I’m leaving.”
“Where?”
Dickson hunched his shoulders. “I’m going north.”
“At least come in for a wash and something to eat. And that beard needs a trim.”
“I’m good. Anyway, I ate that Manson’s liver, kidneys and heart last night, after gutting him.”
Karen widened her eyes in shock, and Pickle and Vince gazed at one another in astonishment. They looked back at Dickson and could see him smirking.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Things aren’t that bad yet.”
Karen stepped forward and gave the man a hug, ignoring the pong coming from him, and he reciprocated. “Is this definitely the last time we’re gonna see you?” she asked him. “Because you’re beginning to make more comebacks than The Rolling Stones.”
“It is.”
Paul broke away from the embrace and shook Vince and Pickle’s hand. He then took the carrier bag off from Pickle and told him he’d dispose of it.
“I’ll be off.” He turned around and took a step forward and said, “Oh,” as if he had forgotten to say something important before his departure.
“What is it?” asked Pickle.
“It wasn’t quick,” Dickson told the three of them. “I attacked him while he slept. He woke up straight away and started screaming as I began to cut him. I think it’s fair to say he felt pain, and he put up a bit of a fight. But I’ve had harder kills.”
Dickson smiled underneath all the hair on his face, and all three could almost see the old clean-shaven Paul Dickson, when they all first met.
Dickson’s eyes widened and he could see a familiar face on the doorstep of 14 Colwyn Place.
“That’s right,” said Vince, looking over and clicking his fingers. “You know each other.”
Vince called Mildred over to the gate and she started to make her way over. She could see the hairy man and her eyes narrowed the closer she got.
“Paul?” she gasped.
“Hi, Clare,” said Dickson.
“Clare?” Karen and Vince spoke simultaneously.
Mildred and Paul hugged, and she whispered in his ear how sorry she was and told him that she knew everything.
They broke away from the embrace and Dickson took a step back and smiled at the woman he hadn’t seen in months. Karen could see that the guy was emotional and was touched by this. Maybe seeing Mildred reminded him of his old life, she thought.
“She told us her name was Mildred,” Vince said, making the woman blush. “Mildred Huxtetter.”
“I would babysit for Julie and Paul now and again, to give them a break,” Mildred began to explain. Her voice quivered and she felt nervous. She had no idea why. “We always watched The Muppets. Or the film Up.”
“And your surname is?” Karen asked.
“Bainbridge. My name’s Clare Bainbridge.” She could feel eyes on her and snapped, “What the piss you looking at? Told you before, it’s my way of dealing with it. Besides, could hardly call myself Miss Piggy, could I?”
“It’s good to see you Clare,” said Paul. “You’re with some good people.”
“I know.”
It had been a hell of a journey for Dickson, as well as the rest of them, but Paul’s journey was going to continue in another area. They were all convinced that they were never going to see him again.
He refrained from telling them that it was he who had managed to steer the herd away from Colwyn Place. He didn’t see the point. He released the fireworks because he didn’t want people hurt. He didn’t do it for praise. He did it because it was the right thing to do.
He started to walk away, along the Wolseley Road, and Vince, Pickle and Karen stepped out and watched as Dickson strolled as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Well, I’m glad he’s on our side,” Pickle said.
“And I’m glad he’s finally going,” said Vince.
“That’s not very nice, Vince,” Karen intervened. “With all the stuff we went through together. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“I’m sorry, Karen, but he scares the shit out of me.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Once the gate was closed, Vince turned to his two friends and asked, “Now what?”
Pickle and Karen didn’t have an answer for the man, and remained silent.
“We’ll just have to get on with it, I suppose,” Vince added.
Vince and Karen could see Harry Branston was in a world of his own.
“You okay?” Karen asked him, noticing his forlorn expression on his face.
“I was starting to like Drake,” he confessed.
Snatchers Box Set | Vol. 5 | Books 13-15 Page 67
