The Devil's Gate

by Malcolm Richards

  “If Cal does come back home,” she said, “I’m going to go and live with Daddy and Grandpa Gary and Nana Joy.”

  Another slap. But Carrie took it. How could she not? Wrapping her arms around her daughter, she brought her close and kissed the top of her head.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” she soothed, as her gaze wandered back to the television screen. “Everything’s going to be as right as rain.”

  4

  THE SPOT WHERE GRADY Spencer’s house had once stood was now a flattened expanse of soil and stone, cordoned off by temporary metal fencing. It was as if the earth had suddenly swallowed the house whole, leaving behind a dark stain as a reminder of all the unutterable horror that had been inflicted within its walls.

  Forensics had put the final body count at fifteen; fourteen of whom had been children, the other a journalist who’d unwittingly stumbled upon Spencer’s lair. All the identified victims had now been returned to their families to be laid to rest. There were no set rules about what to do with unidentified remains. The National Crime Agency recommended recording dental information and extracting DNA before burying them in single, marked graves, in case later exhumation was required. But with these unidentified children, it seemed no one wanted to rob their parents of a proper burial, so their remains continued to be stored at the morgue.

  Before Spencer’s house had been destroyed, Nat had come close to burning it down. Living next door to where children had been tortured and murdered right under her nose had left her feeling sick every time she walked by. One night in January, she’d downed most of a bottle of vodka, then filled the bottle with oil. She’d made her way to the back of Spencer’s house and stood in the yard, lighter in one hand, Molotov cocktail in the other, rage and horror burning in her veins. It was only when a moment’s sobriety had forced her to realise how close Spencer’s house was to her own, where Rose slept inside, that she quickly tossed the bottle away.

  The bulldozers arrived in March and made quick work of the house. The abandoned Mermaid Hotel, where remains of Spencer’s victims had also been found, was next to go, leaving behind an empty space at the top of the left cliff that Nat couldn’t help but notice every time she made her way into town.

  Finally, the labyrinth of dark tunnels that connected both sites was filled in with rubble, erasing all traces of Grady Spencer from Porth an Jowl. All except one.

  Nat stood at the edge of Grenville Row, staring at the plot of dark earth. The town council was still trying to decide what to do with the empty site. Someone had suggested building a memorial park, but the thought of sitting on top of the place where multiple children had been murdered had vetoed the idea almost immediately. For now, it remained an empty space next to Nat’s home, which in some ways felt more of a reminder of what had happened than when the house had still been standing.

  Nat was in a foul mood. She’d been excited to see Jago, but the realisation that their friendship was no longer the same had left a bitter taste at the back of her throat. And now he was leaving. She didn’t even know if she’d see him again before he and his family were gone for good.

  Rose was in the kitchen, her portly frame moving back and forth between the cooker and the table as she prepared dinner. As Nat entered, Rose glanced up, then busied herself with stirring a pot.

  “Do my eyes deceive me? Is that Natalie Tremaine on time for dinner?”

  “That joke’s getting almost as old as you.”

  “How was Penzance?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “You don’t sound like it was fine. How’s Jago?”

  “Skinny. He had Noah with him.”

  “That dear little boy? How’s he doing now? And Tess? You want to set the table for me?”

  Nat dumped her backpack on a chair. Normally when she came home, Rose would greet her with big warm smiles, but right now it was as if the woman was struggling to look at her. Slouching her way over to the cutlery drawer, Nat frowned. “Noah’s not looking so good. From what Jago said, their mum is still self-medicating.”

  “Well, that woman's been to hell and back,” Rose said, wiping her hands on her apron. She glanced up, then away again. “As for that little boy, it’s going to take time to get over it.”

  “I guess. Anyway, they’re leaving. Moving to Wiltshire of all places.”

  “They are? Well, that’s some news. But good news, I think. A fresh start is probably best.”

  Finished setting the table, Nat looked up to see Rose staring strangely at her again. “Is everything all right? You seem...weird.”

  “I’m fine, girl. It’s you that’s got a face like a wet weekend.”

  “That’s my natural expression. It’s called resting bitch face.” Nat rubbed the back of her neck. “Seriously, what is it? You look worried.”

  “I told you, I’m fine. Now wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.”

  Nat did as she was told. Rose served up plates of lamb stew and dumplings; not one of Nat's favourites, but she accepted it gratefully. She wasn't feeling particularly hungry though, thoughts from the afternoon souring her appetite. Rose was right, of course; after all the horrors the Pengelly family had endured, it was a wonder they hadn’t lost their minds. As she speared a chunk of meat, she thought about Jago. He’d taken a life. Sliced Grady Spencer’s throat wide open. Even though that sick bastard had deserved it, Nat couldn't help wondering if killing him had affected Jago in some profound, permanent way. Was that why he was so different now? So distant. Was it the reason their friendship had drifted off course and crashed onto rocks?

  “I was telling the new neighbours all about Devil’s Day, this morning,” Rose said, pulling Nat’s focus back to the room. “They didn't seem the slightest bit interested. I suppose they’re not from the cove, so they don’t understand our traditions. Still, it's nice that someone’s finally living in the Pengelly’s old house. Between them moving out and...well, everything to do with next door, it’s nice to have some new faces on our street, don’t you think?” She paused for a sip of water and peered across the table. Nat stared back, saw Rose flinch and glance down at her plate. “Are you going to eat that food I spent the last hour cooking for you or are you just going to play with it?”

  Nat blew air through her nose, leaned forward and speared a chunk of potato with her fork. She held it up for Rose to see, then swallowed it. She didn’t care what Rose said out loud. The way she kept looking at Nat was making her worry.

  Maybe she was just concerned about Jago leaving. She did always fuss over Nat, like her feelings were made of glass. Sometimes she wished Rose didn't care so much. At least she wasn’t like Nat’s parents, who had cared so little that she had the scars and burns to prove it. Social services had taken her from them with no question of ever being returned. She’d been moved from foster home to foster home, with each carer complaining that her attitude and temper were unmanageable.

  And then she’d been housed with Rose. Nat had hated her to begin with. She had strict rules and terrible taste in home decoration. But she had allowed Nat to have bad days. She’d given her space when she’d needed to be alone. And when Nat had acted up – breaking the rules, calling Rose every terrible name she could think of, doing all that typical teenage shit multiplied by a thousand – Rose had forgiven her.

  The woman was stubborn and superstitious and had a worrying obsession with floral print, but she was also kind and thoughtful and full of love. It made Nat uncomfortable sometimes. It made her want to lash out, to scream at Rose that she’d got it all wrong – that Nat Tremaine wasn’t someone you cared about but someone you were meant to hate. Other times, Rose’s love for her was overwhelming to the point that just thinking about it filled her eyes with tears. Like recently. Nat had turned eighteen two months ago, which meant she was no longer a ward of the state. Rose had told her in no uncertain terms that this was her home now. It would always be her home, no matter whether she chose to stay or go.

  Which was why Rose’s odd behav
iour was making Nat increasingly concerned.

  “When are the Pengellys off, then?” she asked, if sensing Nat was unsatisfied with her brush off.

  “In a few weeks.”

  “So soon? You’ll miss Jago when he goes.”

  “Not really. I mean, it’s not like we hang out anymore.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Some friendships run their course. Jago’s got his hands full with his family. He doesn’t have time for me anymore, I get it. Anyway, now that he’s leaving it doesn’t matter.”

  “People always need friends,” Rose said. “People always need someone they can depend on.”

  Nat shrank in her chair as Aaron Black's face flashed in her mind. He’d depended on her. He'd needed her help, but she hadn't given it to him. Now Aaron was dead.

  “I have a feeling your friendship with Jago ain’t over yet,” Rose said with a smile. “I have a feeling your paths will cross again when you both move to London.”

  Nat grabbed her glass of water and gulped it down, wishing it was something stronger. But alcohol was off-limits right now. Getting caught drunk on campus had sent Nat straight to the college principal’s office. There was concern that she and her grades were slipping off the rails, and while it was understandable that recent life events had affected her deeply, ruining all the hard work she’d put into the past two years was not an acceptable outcome. Nat had turned down the offer of counselling but had promised Rose no more drinking.

  At least, not until college was over.

  Rose set down her fork and rested her hands on the table. She was watching Nat again, making her neck muscles twist and knot.

  “I know you don't like hearing it,” she said, “but I honestly think the best thing you can do is get out of this place. Go to London like you planned. I've got some money saved. We can find somewhere for you to live, get you a little job. I know you don’t want to go to university, and maybe you don't need to, but sitting around this place, growing old and bitter won’t do you any good.” She watched Nat carefully. “And stewing about what happened to Aaron Black will only drive you mad.”

  Nat sat up, shoulders stiffening and her breath catching in her throat.

  “I'm not stupid,” Rose said, eyes softening. “I know you blame yourself. I know we never talk about it. But I can see it in your eyes, girl. They've had a dullness since he passed. That's understandable, but no matter how much you think you're to blame, you're not. Bad people are. And you are not bad.”

  Tears were filling Nat’s eyes fast.

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes I do, and you know it.”

  But the truth was that Rose didn't. She had no idea.

  “Anyway,” Nat said. “If I left, what would you do without me?”

  “I expect I'd manage. I’d miss you, but I'd be happy knowing you were doing something with your life.”

  “London’s expensive. You couldn’t afford to send me there.”

  “Good job you’re saving all that money from your job then, isn’t it?”

  Nat sank lower in her seat. She was feeling bad enough without having to be reminded of the caravan park, which was about to become a full-time summer job from hell.

  “Maybe I'm saving up for a boob job.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “And I’m Marilyn Monroe. Finish your dinner, then you best get upstairs to study. You’ve still got one more exam to go.”

  “Not for another two weeks, I don’t.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  Nat clenched her jaw. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “What’s what all about?”

  “This weird mood you’re in. The way you can barely look at me right now. Trying to send me off to London. Don’t you want me around anymore?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You know how I feel about you.”

  “Then what the hell is it?”

  Rose set her cutlery down with a clatter. She stared at Nat, square on this time, and heaved her round shoulders. “I didn’t want to tell you – but you’ll find out sooner or later. Some people have been killed. Over in Falmouth. A family was murdered and the daughter was taken.”

  Nat’s blood ran cold. Images flashed in her mind. Grainy video footage captured on a mobile phone. “Why were you trying to hide that from me?”

  “Because on the news they’re saying they think it’s connected to that group. The one Mr Black filmed.”

  Nat’s heart was racing, her chest growing tight. More images assaulted her. The interior of a barn. Children gathered in a circle. A beaten, bruised man begging for his life.

  The desperate pleas of Aaron Black’s voicemail filled Nat’s ears. She stared at Rose, who had taken to wringing her hands.

  “I didn’t want to tell you because I don’t want you to worry,” Rose said. “There’s no evidence. It’s just speculation. The police haven’t even released a statement. Anyway, I'm sure it won’t be long before they catch whoever is responsible. Cornwall is small – whoever did it will soon be running out of places to hide.”

  Except Cornwall is remote, Nat thought. With hundreds, if not thousands, of places to hide. And she already knew who was responsible. Rose did, too. Aaron Black’s video had revealed their name.

  The Dawn Children.

  “Try not to worry,” Rose said.

  Nat shrugged. “I'm not worried.”

  Her pulse was racing. Pins and needles were pricking the inside of her skull.

  “Good. Because I don't want you getting any ideas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rose leaned in. “You know full well what I mean, or have you forgotten about the stress you put me through when you disappeared like you did?”

  Guilt stabbed Nat in the chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do that again.”

  “I want you to stay away, you hear me? I don’t want you to even think about what I’ve told you. You’ve been through enough and I don’t want you fretting over this whole awful business any more than you already do. What’s in the past is in the past. All you need to do now is keep your head in those study books and your eyes on the future. Got it?”

  Nat’s heart was pounding. She stared at Rose across the table and slowly nodded. “Got it.”

  “Then eat up and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  Nat ate, mechanically chewing each mouthful. The inside of her skull was itching. Blood rushed in her ears.

  Was it true?

  Had the Dawn Children slaughtered that family and taken their daughter? Six months ago, they’d disappeared from the face of the earth. She’d gone looking for them. Spent the best part of a month searching, leaving Rose frantic at home and on the edge of a breakdown. But it was as if they had only ever existed within the frames of Aaron Black’s video footage. Nat had been desperate to find the Dawn Children. She’d been desperate to make them pay for what they’d done. More than that, she’d been determined to ensure that Aaron Black hadn’t died in vain.

  Had the Dawn Children come back?

  She hoped to God that it was a terrible coincidence. But deep down inside her, she already knew the truth.

  5

  HEATH STOOD ON THE cliff edge, watching the dying embers of the day. The sun had almost disappeared over the edge of the horizon, submerging into the ocean’s watery depths. Above him, stars were beginning to wake. Soon, it would be dark. And out here, the darkness was absolute. A breeze blew up from below to tickle his skin, teasing goose bumps to the surface of his arms. A despairing ache pulled at his insides. Last night’s attack had gone as planned, but not as he’d hoped. He had taken the boy’s life. Watched it drain from the hole in his neck like water from a bath. For a moment, Heath yearned for Jacob's guidance. It had been months since their leader had vanished. Months since they’d been forced to leave Burnt House Farm and find a new home. For a while, they’d travelled f
rom place to place, living like scavengers off the land. Until Heath had stumbled upon the abandoned military base. Until he had taken charge.

  Jacob was lost to them. They could only assume that he was dead, leaving the children vulnerable to the dangers of the outside world. It was why Heath had stepped up. There was no one else; no one strong enough or with a clear vision of what Jacob had planned. No one else who could lead the children into the New Dawn. But there was responsibility with leadership and it weighed on his shoulders constantly. Sometimes he yearned for the days when all he had to do was take orders and carry them out willingly. But those days were gone and now the burden of leadership was his alone.

  He heaved his shoulders, watching the ocean churn far below.

  “Heath?”

  The voice startled him, but he kept his gaze firm on the rise and fall of the waves. A memory came to him. He was small, no older than three or four, sitting on the floor of a dirty living room, puke on the carpet and a bloody syringe balanced on a wrap of foil within easy reach. There was a dog with him. His dog. The dog’s name was Scamp and he was lying on his side, fast asleep, paws making little jerking movements as Heath watched the animal’s ribcage rise and fall, hypnotised by it in the same way he was now hypnotised by the sea below him.

  “Heath?”

  He flicked his gaze upwards, where stars were blinking awake in a sky that stretched as far as the eye could see. Morwenna came up beside him, her long hair whipping about in the breeze.

  “I've been looking for you,” she said, following his gaze. “Is everything okay?”

  Heath glanced at her, noting her worried expression. He returned to staring at the horizon. “Everything is fine.”

  He could still feel her eyes upon him, analysing his body language. The ache in his chest grew heavier, dragging him an inch closer towards the cliff edge.

  “How's the girl?”

  Morwenna blew air through her nose. “A handful. But she’ll learn.” She looked at him again, searching his face. “Are you sure you're all right?”