Luke shivered.
What if the Dawn Children were right and Cynthia was wrong? She was an adult. Adults could not be trusted.
Grinding to a halt, he glanced over his shoulder. The road was clear and still. He turned back to face the house, his empty stomach grumbling and churning. It was just a few metres ahead of him now, its front door opening right onto the road. The curtains were closed, but he could see light sneaking out through the cracks. He knew he should go in there, should knock on the door. But what if they were bad people? What if they threw him over a shoulder and dragged him into the basement?
What if he was never seen again?
Luke stared up at the house, tears brimming in his frightened eyes. Cynthia had told him to go to the village; that's where she said he would be safe. But now he wondered if he would be safer back at the compound, back with Alison and the other children. He could go to sleep again, even with his eyes wide open.
No. He had to keep going.
He didn't know where his dad was anymore, but he knew his mum was still out there. She would have been worried all this time. Scared that something had happened to her little boy.
Luke missed her. He missed his bedroom and his toys. He missed his reception class and his friends. And he’d missed his birthday, which he knew was in winter, and that meant he was five now, not four, because winter had come and gone a long time ago. Perhaps when he got home, there’d be a big birthday present waiting for him.
Luke pushed on, passing the house, heading for the village. Now there were more lights and there were people in the distance, walking their dogs. He liked dogs. Especially little ones with sandy-coloured fur and wagging tails. Sweat dampening his brow, Luke sped up.
Then came a rumbling sound from somewhere behind. Luke walked faster. He knew that sound. He’d recognised it instantly. It was the same sound that had filled his ears on the night he'd been taken. The roar of an engine belonging to a big, white van.
His little arms swung by his sides. His tiny muscles shrieked and complained. Tears sprang from his eyes and splashed down his face.
He didn't want to go back there! He wanted to see his mum! But now the van was pulling up beside him, its exhaust pipe spewing noxious fumes.
Luke froze. He glanced up at the van, saw the driver door open and Heath sitting behind the wheel.
His bottom lip trembled as Heath leaned forward.
“Hey there, little man,” he said with a smile, then glanced along the road, clocking the dog walkers in the distance. “Where do you think you're going?”
Luke began to sob.
“I'm going home,” he wailed and rubbed his eyes.
Still smiling, Heath extended a hand. “Then you're going in the wrong direction. Your home’s back that way.”
Luke shook his head. He turned around, saw the house that he’d passed by, contemplated running towards it while screaming at the top of his lungs.
But Heath was staring at him with a look that chilled his blood.
“Get in the van, Luke,” he said. “Get in the van now.”
Still sobbing, Luke did as he was told, slowly climbing inside and sitting next to Heath, who leaned across him and shut the door.
“Good boy,” he said and wiped a tear from Luke's face, making him flinch.
He rolled the van forward, into the village, past the people and their dogs, past more houses and a church, until the village was disappearing in the rear-view mirror and they were driving through the countryside, the light almost gone.
In the passenger seat, Luke stared out at the darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This was not the way back to the compound. He glanced over at Heath, whose eyes were fixed on the road. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he was going to take Luke back home to his mother.
Heath turned, saw Luke staring from the shadows.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We all have a role to play in the New Dawn. Even those who are too weak to cross over.”
Then he was quiet, gazing ahead, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick. Luke stared at the darkness again. He was worried. More worried than he’d ever felt in his short, young life.
19
THEY MET AT THE SHACK beach bar, which in hindsight had not been the best idea. It was busy with tourists catching an evening dinner and drinks, but there were locals here, too, filling the tables and sandy floorboards. And of course, they were staring. And whispering.
Carrie sat at a table in the corner, eyes flicking around the room as she attempted to focus on the surf rock music playing from the speakers. She'd only been here for twenty minutes but it already felt like a lifetime. She watched Kye at the bar, watched the way he smiled and chatted to those who knew him, some of the men clapping him on the shoulder and wondering what he was doing back here in the cove. The same question was on Carrie’s mind.
Her first instinct had been to decline his invitation. Yet here she was and now he was coming back over with more drinks and a smile; one that didn't reach his eyes, she noted, which were haunted just like her own.
“Here,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her, then sitting down.
Carrie stared at the drink. It had been months since she’d touched a drop of alcohol but meeting up with a ghost from the past could never be done dry. She brought the glass to her lips, tasting the fizz of cola and the bitterness of vodka. She made a mental note not to down it as quickly as she’d done with the first.
Kye was staring at her. It had been almost seven years since she’d last seen him, but except for a few more weathered lines and a patch of premature grey in his beard, he looked much the same. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way; just like Dylan. But where Dylan had a steely countenance regardless of his mood, Kye's eyes were soft and deep, revealing some of the complexity beneath. He smiled at her, warm and disarming.
“He has your eyes,” Carrie said at last, her voice barely audible over the din of the bar. An image of Cal sitting across from the table at the hospital flashed in her mind and guilt ripped through her.
Pain flickered across Kye’s face and he glanced away. Someone called out his name. He raised a hand and smiled. When he turned back to Carrie, the smile was gone.
“Why are you here?” she asked him. “It's been years. So, why now?”
For a long time, he remained silent and staring. Then, taking a drink of beer, he set his glass down and said, “Dad’s sick. Cancer.”
“Oh... I’m sorry. How bad?”
“Stage four. They’re treating him but it’s not looking good. Anyway, it’s not the only reason. I thought it was about time we talked.”
Carrie leaned forward. It felt hot in the bar, like they had the heaters running despite the warm summer air. “It was about time six months ago. I gave up trying to call you.”
“Well, that one you can't blame me for. If I'd found out sooner that... that he’d come home... I would have been here,” Kye said, suddenly angry. “The only reason I knew he was alive in the first place was because my parents told me. What the hell, Carrie? You knew I was halfway around the world on a fucking oil rig. If you’d told me right away, I could have made it back in time before he...”
His voice cracked. He picked up his beer and swallowed half of it.
Carrie's gaze sank to the table. “Cal needed a couple of weeks to get used to being back. I had no idea what was going to happen. If I’d known I would have –”
“I was his father!” His eyes flashed in the dim lighting. On the next table, a middle-aged couple – strangers in this town – looked up from their meals. Kye ignored them. “I had a right to see my son. You should have told me as soon as he’d come back.”
“Things were difficult. I was in shock. One minute Cal was dead, the next he was back.” Carrie shook her head. The couple on the next table was still staring. All around the bar, faces were turning in her direction. “I can’t stay in here.”
She stood, the room closing in on her, C
al’s hate-filled eyes burning into her mind. She pushed her way through the crowds, almost knocking someone's drink over as she headed towards the door. Somewhere ahead of her, a dog barked loudly from beneath a table. Throwing open the door, she rushed outside.
The world fell quiet. The air was cool on her skin, the sand soft beneath her sandals. It was dusk. Stars glimmered in the wide, darkening sky. Yellow lights twinkled from the town.
Carrie turned away from them. The last remnants of the sun lay on the horizon. The sea was calm, the gentle whisper of the tide soothing her chaotic mind. For months, she had struggled to come back to the beach. The place where her son had disappeared. Where, seven years ago, her life had been torn to pieces and thrown into the wind. The calmness she felt now surprised her. She walked a few paces, heading towards the ocean. The spot where the Mermaid Hotel had once stood on the left cliff was vast and open, the sky painting over its terrible legacy. On the right cliff, the old lighthouse kept watch over the town, its beam of light cutting through the sky. Behind it, Briar Wood shifted mysteriously in the shadows.
The door to The Shack opened and noise spilled out. Then it was quiet again. Until she heard the sand shifting as someone approached.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said, without turning around. “That's what you want to hear, isn’t it? That’s why you came.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Kye’s tall, lithe figure cast in shadows. He was quiet, watching her. Returning her gaze to the sea, she watched the tide fold in on itself and break into white spools of foam.
“I should have called you. I should have let you know the moment he came back.”
Kye came up behind her and she felt an old yet familiar crackle of energy surge between them. She didn't turn around, kept her eyes fixed on the flotsam and jetsam. Then Kye was beside her, eyes pointed in the same direction.
“I was never a good dad,” he said. “I abandoned him. Went off to work on the rigs when he was so young.”
Carrie glanced at him, saw his head hanging low. “We've all made mistakes. I made the worst one.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I hadn't taken my eyes off him that day at the beach, none of this would have ever happened.” She turned to him, desperation choking her voice. “Do you blame me? Do you blame me like everyone else?”
Kye looked up, slowly shook his head.
“No, I don't. I blame the psychopath that took him. I blame the police for not looking close enough to home. I blame myself for leaving and abandoning our son. But I don't blame you. Maybe back then I did, but I was young and stupid. Mostly, I was just angry at myself.”
He reached out a hand and brushed hair away from Carrie's face; an intimate gesture that she would have slapped away had it been anyone else. But she allowed him to do it, and for a second she was seventeen again, spending night after night down at the beach with him, the only place where they had privacy to talk.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for all of this.” She turned around, fighting back tears as she stared up at the town. “This damn place! I can't breathe here. I feel like all the houses are falling on top of me. All I want is to leave.”
“So, leave.”
“How can I? I can’t take Melissa away from her dad. She needs him. She needs regularity and routine. Besides, every penny I have is going to Cal's solicitor. I can’t afford a day out in Truro, never mind moving to another town. I can’t leave. I’ve lived here my whole sorry life. I’ll probably die here, too.”
She shook her head in frustration. Three nights ago, she’d sat down with a calculator and worked out that even if she sold Cove Crafts and re-mortgaged the house, she might just about break even. But there would be nothing left. Maybe that was the way it had to be. Sometimes you had to sacrifice yourself to save your children. Even if your children were stone cold killers.
Kye let out a long, trembling breath. “How is he? How is Cal?”
“Not good. He’s stopped eating. His doctor thinks he’s giving up. I went to see him today and it was like he was dying right in front of my eyes. I don't know what to think anymore. What to do. He’s my son – our son – and I’ve loved him the same since he was growing in my belly. But he killed a man, Kye. He almost killed my mother.”
“But you know that wasn't him, don't you?” Kye said. “It was Grady Spencer getting inside his head. It was that crazy cult, whoever they are, poisoning his mind and trying to control him. Our boy would never have done any of those terrible things. Our boy was always good and kind.”
Carrie was losing the fight against her tears. “He was. But the Cal that came back isn't our boy anymore. Not in the same way.”
A cool breeze blew up from the ocean, making her shiver. She wrapped her arms around her rib cage as she stared at Kye and a hundred memories danced behind her eyes. “How long are you staying for?”
He shrugged. “A couple of weeks, maybe longer. It depends on what happens with Dad.”
“You’re staying with them?”
“For now. You know they moved up to Padstow last year?”
“No, I didn’t. So you came down to Porth an Jowl just to see me?”
Although the evening was growing darker by the minute, she thought she saw him blush.
“I wanted to give you something.”
“You mean more than a piece of your mind?”
They both smiled.
“You should go and see him, Kye. Just call the hospital, explain who you are. It might help him.”
“I... He hasn't seen me in years. Probably wouldn't recognise who I am.”
“I’m sure he would.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Maybe we could go together.”
“Oh, sure. I can imagine your husband’s face right now.”
Carrie glared at him. “I told you. We’re separated. Not that it has anything to do with going to see Cal.”
Silence fell between them, the emptiness filled by the gentle crash of the surf and a chorus of sudden laughter floating out from The Shack.
Carrie glanced at Kye, noting his hanging head and sloping shoulders.
He has no intention of visiting Cal, she thought.
At any other time, she would have been angry with him. But how many weeks had she allowed to pass before going to see her son today? She stared at the tide, overwhelmed by sadness.
She understood how Kye felt. It would be easy for him to walk away. To leave his son in the hospital, medicated and surrounded by doctors, with who-knows-what chance of ever getting out. Cal had been dead to Kye for years. But Carrie had seen their son brought back from the dead. She had seen him return home, broken and traumatised, a shattered fragment of his former self. She had seen glimmers of hope that her son could be saved. And then she had seen that hope snuffed out.
Could she walk away from him? Turn her back on her son like everyone else?
Carrie blinked and brushed hair from her face. “What did you want to give me?”
Shifting his weight, Kye looked up at the town, then down at the sand. “You know how I used to send money for Cal at the end of each month? The money he used to buy that damn body board...”
Carrie put a hand on his forearm. “You don’t blame me. I don’t blame you, either.”
Kye shrugged. “Well, after he was...gone...I kept saving the money. Each month, I put it away, thinking that if I kept doing it, maybe one day he’d come back. I know, it was stupid. But after a while, I was too scared to stop. It was like if I did, then he really would be gone.” He paused. In the shadows, Carrie saw him wipe away a tear. “I’ve been saving money for him right up until now. There’s a ton of it just sitting in an account, collecting interest. I want you to have it. Put it towards the court costs. I was a shitty dad. Let me do this for him. For both of you.”
Carrie couldn’t breathe. She’d been wrong.
It was Kye who was still clinging on to hope. She was the one who had let it go.
Kye
turned, gently wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Stop,” she whispered.
He leaned in, touching his head against hers. Tears glistened in the encroaching moonlight. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we'd stayed together. Sometimes I wonder if Cal would still be Cal if I’d never left.”
They stood for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breaths quickening and growing heavy. Carrie closed her eyes, lost in memories, enjoying the warmth emanating from his body. Then Dylan's face swam behind her eyes.
“We broke up for a reason,” she said. “We were young. Stupid.”
“And now we’re older. Maybe a little wiser, too.”
Carrie stared up at him, words catching in her throat.
“Take the money,” Kye whispered. “It’s a rock around my neck.”
He leaned closer. His lips grazed hers. Carrie opened her mouth, letting him in. Then she pulled away.
“Don't!” she said, raising her voice. She turned back to him, tears running down her face. “It’s grief, that’s all! Grief makes you do stupid things.”
Behind them, the door to The Shack swung open and people came spilling out. Carrie stepped back, watching the group of drunken locals – fishermen, no doubt – stumble across the sand, laughing raucously as they headed back to town.
Kye was still staring at her, his gaze dark and hopeless.
“Take the money,” he said. “Please. Let me be a good dad.”
Carrie stood, watching him, mind overwhelmed by conflicting thoughts.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get another drink and talk some more.”
20
DAYLIGHT WAS GONE, the windows of the mess hall rectangles of blue-black. Lanterns lined each wall, making shadows dance and flicker as the children filed into the room. Each one was given a handful of tiny mushrooms, which they accepted gratefully, swallowing them down and grimacing at the bitter taste as they sat on the floor in a large circle. When the last of them was in position, Heath stepped into the centre.
He had eaten none of the mushrooms himself. He never did. He stood in silence, slowly turning, watching his subjects, waiting for the fungi’s hallucinogenic properties to kick in. With some of the smaller children, it took just a couple of minutes. With the others, a little longer. But they would all soon succumb. It was their gateway to the New Dawn. Their way into the truth.
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