by J G Alva
Against the far wall, Alden King was in the throes of passion. The victim of his passion wasn’t Andrea, thank God. No. This woman was much older. Sutton knew the face, had seen it not ten hours previously. Alden was on top of her on the floor, his trousers around his ankles, and he was thrusting in to the woman with violent abandon. It had been his voice Sutton had heard, crying out in an almost prepubescent ecstasy.
The woman did not fight. She was blonde, her arms limp at her sides, her head turned to the side, staring sightlessly at nothing, devoid of hope, as Alden went about his business. Her clothes were torn and hung on her body like mismatched rags. There was blood around her mouth.
Ellie.
But she was alive.
At least, that was Sutton’s first impression.
In the throes of his passion, as Alden clutched at her body to draw it closer to him, her head rose momentarily and then fell off, tumbling end over end for several feet like a misshapen football, to be lost in the shadows at the far edge of the cavern. Ellie. Dead. Beheaded.
Alden King’s obscene love making ended. He pulled his trousers up. He was laughing, slightly out of breath. He started shouting at the top of his voice.
“You see, mother!” He shouted. “I came out of you! I came out of you, so it seems only right that I should go back in!”
Sutton’s mind could not process what he had just heard, what he had just seen. He knew only that he was watching the most hideous travesty, the darkest evil.
Sutton did not know how Alden became aware of him. He made no sound, at least, none that he was aware of, but the big man seemed to sense something, to suddenly become alert. All of a sudden Alden King stopped laughing, and turned to look in Sutton’s direction.
He picked up one of the many objects scattered on the table against the wall of the cavern, behind which a lamp made an ominous silhouette of him; Sutton was unable, however, to make out the object he had selected. Alden started making his way toward him. The object was metallic, Sutton could discern that much from the light reflecting from it, but no more. A strange whirring sound came to his ears, like that of a small powerful fan. What…?
He would have to move. Alden was big, and he would have trouble tackling him, if it came to that.
Sutton backed away from where he had been watching.
Suddenly, Alden threw whatever it was he had picked off the table.
There was a swishing sound in the air, and then something buried itself in to the wall above Sutton’s head. The whirring noise continued. He recognised the object in the wall from Alden’s diary; it was the boomerang, brought to life in steel. The electronic fans on either end were used to stabilise its flight. The edges of it were razor sharp, and design to cut.
Sutton ran.
Quick footsteps followed him.
He thought about the ladder going up to the roof. How far away was that? And was there any guarantee he could get the cover off if he made it up there, at least before Alden grabbed him?
He could hear Alden’s laboured breathing in the shadows behind him.
There were many passages leading off on either side of this one and Sutton debated taking one to throw Alden off, but that would make it incredibly unlikely that he would be able to find his way back. And what was the betting Alden King knew these caves like the back of his fucking hand.
He sounded closer. Sutton thought he would have to chance it.
He took the next opening on his left.
There was very little lighting in this part of the caves. After sprinting hard for ten seconds Sutton stopped and hid in the shadows of a recess not far from the main passageway, but Alden did not rush passed. Suddenly, there was silence: no footsteps, no breathing. Without this aural stimulus, Sutton suddenly felt more blind than if all the lights had gone out.
Where was he?
In his panic he turned and ran down another passageway, much darker than any of the others, and almost cried out when he kicked something and went sprawling over it.
On all fours, he quickly put his back to the wall of the passageway. He held his breath, listening. Nothing. He moved to get up, and his hand brushed the object that he had tripped over. He couldn’t really see it, but it felt like a weather worn log. He picked it up; it wasn’t too heavy, and fit nicely in his hands. He carefully backed along the wall, his eyes open but staring sightlessly ahead, until he felt a recess at his back, and then stepped into it. He remained perfectly still. This was the only way to beat him. Patience.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, loud, like he was being swatted by a pillow.
Otherwise, silence.
Where was he?
Water was dripping somewhere.
Sutton could hardly see anything, just a ghostly luminescence across the floor from the spots further back in the caves.
Silence.
How long would he have to wait? How long could he wait?
Robin was outside. It wouldn’t be long before she got through to Sean, surely, and then they would storm this place by force. He just had to hang on until then.
Sweat was trickling down the sides of his face.
Suddenly, without warning, Sutton saw the black silhouette of a man rushing towards him.
In fear and alarm, he forgot any training he had been given, any wisdom he acquired about incapacitating an attacker. In near panic, he swung the log with as much force as he could muster, like he was swinging a Rounder’s bat and trying to put the ball as far over the opposing team’s heads as possible.
When the log connected with Alden King, he grunted. There was an impressive thwacking sound as the log hit him across the chest; well, Sutton assumed it was across his chest, but in the darkness he could not be sure. Alden went down, and the contact almost jarred the log from Sutton’s hands, but he managed to retain his grasp on it. There was a scuffling sound, moving away from him, but in the darkness Sutton could not pinpoint its exact location. He heard Alden groan, as if in pain, but it sounded far away.
Sutton waited a few moments, sure he was missing an opportunity to finish the man, and then thought fuck it and ran.
Fifty feet down the passage Sutton came to another enormous chamber.
There was only one light here, directly above small rooms that had been hollowed out of the wall of the cavern; steel bars had been set in them, so that they looked like miniature prison cells.
There were people behind the bars.
There were six cells in total. Sutton rushed to the first cell. This contained a body that was unrecognisable, stick thin, black with corrosion, and obviously dead for months, if not years. A rat was moving around inside the shredded stomach. He moved on.
The next one contained a figure that he at first thought was an old wrinkled lady until he realised that the wrinkled grey skin was in fact decay, and that the long blonde hair gone almost paper white was that of a little girl. He couldn’t place her age. Nine? Ten? Surely no older than that.
He moved on before he went mad.
Andrea was in the third cage.
A thin figure in torn clothes, her lifeless body lay in a crumpled tangle in the corner of the cage.
He was too late.
She was dead.
And then she moved.
Her head came up. Her movements were almost feral. One eye glistened, white and wide with fear and incomprehension.
“Andrea,” Sutton said.
At her name, some semblance of life seemed to come into her eyes.
“It’s okay,” Sutton said. “Your sister sent me. It’s okay.”
Sutton examined the bars to see if there was any way to pry them loose. He looked for a weakness, but they seemed solid and unbreakable. It was a crudely designed cage but all the joints were welded together, and there was no movement or give in any of them.
“Help,” a small female voice said.
Sutton’s head whipped around.
In the last of the cells, a dark haired woman stared out at him; her face was str
eaked with tears, her mouth turned down in anguish. She had one arm thrown around her blonde haired daughter, one hand holding to the bars. The daughter was like a frightened animal, trying to hide in the folds of her mother’s clothes. They both looked beaten, defeated.
Steve’s Ashbury’s wife and daughter.
“Please,” the woman begged.
Sutton put a finger to his lips, moving toward her.
“You have to be quiet,” he whispered.
“Please get us out of here…”
“I will, just-“
Footsteps.
Sutton looked around, could not determine where they were coming from. There were two other entrances into this cavern, the one he had come through, and another one in the wall opposite. The acoustics were so strange the footsteps might have been coming from either one.
What was he going to do? He was too exposed here, for a start. He turned to the woman, put his finger to his lips again; she nodded. He did the same to Andrea, but she merely stared at him, uncomprehending. Shock.
He ran to the other side of the cavern, which was shrouded in darkness. There was a long vertical channel in the wall, as if worn out by water, that might just be big enough for him to hide in. Sutton struggled to fit himself inside, the dampness from some hidden water source deep inside the cleft soaking into the arm of his clothes. He pushed himself further back in the recess. His left arm was pretty much exposed; he just had to hope the darkness would conceal him.
The footsteps were coming.
No one in the world could have been more shocked when Robin appeared in the second doorway.
Oh my God.
She ventured further into the room, spotting Ashbury’s wife first, and moved toward her.
“Are you okay, are you alright?” She asked.
Oh my God, no. No no no. What was she doing here?
It was no good, he would have to leave his hiding place, get Robin out of there, hide her somewhere, do something with her, though he did not have any idea what, unless…
Unless he used her to bait Alden.
It would be the perfect distraction. Alden could not resist.
“Andrea!” Robin cried.
At the familiar face, Andrea came to the bars and put her arms through them, clutching at her sister. There was a terrible wail of distress from her.
Too loud.
Damn it.
He would be coming.
Sutton knew they couldn’t hang around. He didn’t like his chances tackling Alden. He was scary big, and there was no guarantee he could take him.
It took some effort, but Sutton managed to finally free himself.
But before he was able to get to Robin, Alden King was suddenly there in the cavern with them.
Alden stopped, surprised, staring at Robin.
He had not noticed Sutton.
Alden tilted back his head and laughed.
He moved to stand in front of Robin. He towered over her like a giant.
She looked up at him with a mixture of fear and blistering hate. Andrea scooted to the back of her cage in fear.
“Well,” he said. “A lamb. A little baby lamb.”
He grabbed her around the throat. Her eyes bulged. He lifted her up. She was only small. Her feet came off the floor.
Robin.
Sutton burst forward, and giving a roar he never knew he uttered, he swung the log at Alden.
Alden had time to turn, but not time to move out of the way.
Sutton brought the log across Alden’s lower back. It was a good blow, a strong blow, and came all the way around from Sutton’s hip.
But it was like hitting a tree.
Alden flinched and dropped Robin, stumbling forward. He should have gone down. Any other man would have.
Wasting no time, Sutton hit him again, but Alden was ready for it. He brought an arm up to block the blow, and the log hit him squarely above the wrist.
Sutton felt Alden’s arm give under the log, and Alden screamed.
Alden went down on to one knee, his other arm supporting his weight. His right arm, the broken one, he hugged to his stomach; below the wrist it hung down at an odd angle.
“You,” Alden said, fixing him with a baleful stare.
He struggled to his feet. Sweat covered his face.
Sutton brought the log round, and as if he was swinging at the driving range, swung it at Alden’s face.
Alden’s head rocked to the side, and he went down on his good elbow.
But he did not drop.
Slowly, slowly, he brought his head back around to Sutton.
His face was a red mask of horror. Sutton had taken off a huge swath of skin with the blow, and now part of his cheek hung down like peeling wallpaper. Blood dripped off his chin. As Sutton watched, one of his eyes, the left one, filled with blood.
But Sutton could have sworn he was grinning.
Alden struggled to rise again.
Unbelievable.
Sutton took out the other arm with the log, the supporting arm, at the shoulder.
Alden cried out, and collapsed face first on to the cavern floor.
He was still for only a moment. Then he moved, and began to struggle forward, like a worm, his broken arm under him, his other arm, now broken at the shoulder, useless and lying on the floor like a discarded hose.
But still he came on.
And all the while he was grinning.
Sutton raised the log up and brought it down on his head, the final blow, the death blow, and Alden was still.
Robin was crying.
“Sutton?” She said weakly.
Sutton was breathing hard.
“It’s over,” he said.
And then Alden groaned.
Sutton looked down, and Alden had turned his head slightly, to stare up at him. One eye was almost black with blood, but the other found him. His face was a chopped up ruined mask of torn flesh, and there was a dent in his head, as if his skull had crumpled in on itself, like the top of a broken egg.
But he was still conscious.
He made a sound. He was trying to speak, but his ruined lips would not work.
He slithered forward. The serpent.
From the opening into which Robin had entered, Sutton heard footsteps, lots of them, and bobbing torches could be seen, poking into the gloom, and preparing himself for he knew not what, convinced he would have to fight for any of them to be free, Sutton brought the log up, ready to take down whoever it might be. There was shouting, someone called out, and then a dozen men in uniform were in the cavern, standing around with guns.
The police.
Sutton relaxed, a trembling in all his limbs.
Amongst them was Sean.
Sean took in the cells, Alden King on the floor at his feet, Steve Ashbury’s wife and daughter, the bodies, and finally his gaze found his cousin.
“Andrea,” Sean said, almost like a sigh of relief.
He went to her cage and clutched at the hand that reached out for his through the bars.
It was some moments before he turned his attention to the rest of the room.
“How…?” He looked momentarily lost for words.
“Sandstone,” Sutton said, and indicated the caves.
Sean looked around the cavern, and then turned back to Sutton.
“Why didn’t you call me?” He asked. He left Andrea and came toward Sutton, angry. “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
Sutton frowned. He looked at Robin, but she was busy calming her sister.
“I thought…I thought Robin did.”
Sean shook his head. His face was brick red with fury.
He pointed to Alden and his serpentine slithering.
“It was him,” he said. “He called us.”
From the cavern floor, Alden, still alive, and still impossibly conscious, grinned up at them.
*
CHAPTER 19
Sutton was overcome with a strange kind of nervousness when knocking on Robin’s fro
nt door, as if this was a first meeting, not a last.
Sean answered. A warm smile broke across his face.
“Sutton,” he said happily, and indicated for him to enter.
The house wasn’t large, but it was comfortable. Robin owned a small semi-detached in Mangotsfield; a small safe home for a small safe suburbanite.
Sean stood in front of him a moment, just smiling.
Sutton smiled also.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Sean said, waving a hand. “Come on.”
He led him through a combination Living and Dining Room in muted greens and sour oranges. Sutton thought with amusement that Robin was right, she was no art critic; she even had trouble gauging complimentary colours. Framed pictures covered one wall, and two large bookcases dominated another. Sutton scanned some of the spines, and saw that they were predominantly fiction. She had lofty tastes: Dickens, Jane Austen, Trollope, Hardy, Mark Twain. It was as if she had gotten fiction appreciation from a text book, a shopping list for a balanced literary diet.
The Kitchen was at the back of the house. Patio doors allowed the sun to fill the room. Robin was by the sink, stirring two teas with a spoon, a petite woman in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail, girlish, domestic, attractive; she was not yet aware of him, and with the freedom to admire her, he did, and very much liked what he saw. Andrea sat at the kitchen table, a little slumped, in jeans and a cardigan; she too was unaware of him.
The sound of the spoon circling inside the cups stopped. Robin’s eyes were on him suddenly – that intense blue – and now Andrea’s head came up.
“Sutton,” Robin said, not quite breathless.
“How are you?” He asked her, but he also included Andrea in his look.
“Okay,” Robin said, and then looked at Andrea. “We’re okay. Have a seat.” She indicated a chair at the table opposite Andrea. “Do you want a drink?”
“Tea will be fine,” he said, taking the chair. “No sugar.”
“Right.”
Sean went and sat on the other side of the table, next to Andrea.
“How are you?” Sutton asked again, taking the seat at the table, his voice softer this time.
Andrea’s face was a colourful network of half healed cuts and bruises: a split lip, a swollen cheekbone, a black eye, a scalp laceration that came out of her hairline and ran halfway down her forehead. Her hair, freshly washed and still a little damp, bracketed her thin face…too thin. Alden had not been feeding her. Her eyes seemed calm however, and possessed a certain gravity or solemnity; like a prophet that has come out of the desert after seeing great things. Or terrible things.
