The woman jumped. The boy, too. Catapulting Lindsay into the air.
Then the three were falling.
Turner screamed.
His fingers shot out. Grabbed the back of Lindsay’s t-shirt.
He lurched forward, chest slamming down on the wall, the air bursting from his lungs.
The Dawn Children fell. Swung. Still holding onto Lindsay, Turner was pulled forward. Skin tore from his chest as he was dragged across the battlements.
The weight was too much. He was falling with them.
The Dawn Children slammed into each other.
The boy lost his grip on Lindsay. Then he was falling, arms swinging wildly, legs kicking, young eyes filled with terror.
Hands grabbed Turner’s legs. An arm wrapped around his chest. The officers held onto him as he watched the boy plummet, then smash into the ground, blood and bone spraying over the police officers below.
Shrieks of horror rang up. Lindsay screamed. The woman was still holding onto her wrist, refusing to let go.
Turner’s grip was slipping on her t-shirt. He reached down with his other hand and grasped her upper arm.
“Pull back!” He hissed between clenched teeth.
The officers dug their feet into the ground and heaved. The woman kicked and thrashed. She glared at Turner, who was growing weaker by the second. Not in terror, he realised. But in anger.
The officers heaved again, lifting them up an inch.
“No!” the woman hissed. “This is our New Dawn! We have to go into the light!”
The officers heaved again. Turner felt his feet touch the ground. Felt adrenaline surge through his veins. He wrapped an arm around Lindsay’s chest.
An ear-splitting scream tore from the woman’s throat. She thrashed her body again, dragging the officers forward, then down.
Far below, the young man’s broken body was afloat in a sea of red.
“We are the Children of the Dawn! Our Salvation is here! This is our –”
Lindsay brought her foot up and smashed it down into the young woman’s face. She gasped. Then she was falling. Tumbling and flipping, screaming all the way down. There was a sickening, far away crunch. Then silence.
Turner and the officers dragged Lindsay over the battlements and they fell to the ground, where they lay in a tangled pile, panting and heaving.
Lindsay was alive. Turner had saved her.
He wrapped his arms around her trembling body and held her close.
“It’s okay. You're safe. We've got you.”
It was a terrible lie and he knew it. Because Lindsay’s family was gone and she was alone. Nothing in her life would ever be okay again.
As more officers arrived, followed by Detective Sergeant Hughes, Turner couldn't shake the feeling that today wasn't over yet. That Lindsay Church and poor Luke Beaumont were only the sideshows. A distraction. Little petals of a poisoned flower.
That flower was about to bloom. Suddenly he realised where.
But it was much too late.
34
THE PARADE HAD MADE it down to the promenade, the lumbering, giant devil leading the way and the swarming throng of spectators following alongside. The marching band played on, xylophones tinkling, cymbals crashing, drums beating, the musicians sweating in their bright uniforms. Two volunteers dressed as mermaids danced by, spraying fine mists of cool water over them, bringing temporary relief from the soaring temperature.
The performing school children were also suffering from the heat, growing irritable and sluggish. Two little pirates had abandoned their banner completely, leaving it on the roadside for a pair of teenagers to snatch it up and swoop it around. Even the demonic dancers had started to tire. Lucky then, that the parade was coming to its end.
The giant red devil came to a standstill in the centre of Cove Road, his wicked, grinning face staring out at the calm, blue ocean. The Devil’s Gate protruded from the left cliff in a wide, rocky arch that plunged into the water. On the beach, three timber slipways had been constructed near the shore and spaced equally apart. Resting on top of each one was a wooden keg filled with cider.
This was the pinnacle of the Devil’s Day festival. The moment an offering was made.
Rose and her gaggle of volunteers worked through the crowds, handing out cups of cider from trays. People accepted them eagerly. A few even tried to drink straight away, until a cutting glare from Rose quickly changed their minds.
Carrie stood at the far end of the promenade, the designated meeting place for parents to collect their children from the parade. Dylan, Joy, and Gary stood together next to her. No one was speaking. Dylan watched the crowds, a mixture of confusion and hurt in his eyes. Gary stared at the ground, while Joy had made it her duty to flash disapproving looks at her daughter-in-law. She hadn’t said anything to Dylan yet, but Carrie sensed the woman was struggling to keep what she now knew to herself.
Feeling hemmed in, Carrie turned away from the Killigrews and stared at the other waiting parents. They offered her no solace, either blanking her completely or shooting her down with withering glares. She was a pariah. The mother of a killer. Somehow, she was just as responsible as Grady Spencer for turning her son into a psychopath. It was easier to blame the parents, Carrie supposed, than to accept that a child was capable of murder. To do so would be to question their own children.
But it wasn't Joy Killigrew’s accusatory glares or the other parents’ cold shoulders that were bothering Carrie right now.
It was that young woman’s face. The one she'd glimpsed in the crowd. The one who had been watching her.
She searched the multitude of bodies on the promenade with her eyes and scanned the rows of stalls selling sweets and soft toys and cheap keyrings. A white beer tent bulged with drinkers quaffing from plastic pint glasses. Halfway along the promenade a small funfair captivated young children with a spinning carousel of brightly coloured horses, a coconut shy, and a red and white striped helter-skelter with a spiral slide. Stilt walkers picked their way through the throngs, some dressed as clowns, others as fantastical creatures. Near the promenade railings, a troupe of jugglers tossed burning torches in the air, sparking cries of delights from their audience.
Weaving between them all were Rose and her volunteers.
Carrie turned away from the crowds and looked down at the beach, where Mayor Prowse and a group of town councillors were gathering by the wooden slipways. Beyond them, the sea was calm, patiently waiting for the ceremony to begin.
This was where it had all gone wrong. Seven years ago, when Carrie had taken her eyes off Cal for just a minute. A small slip in concentration that had led to a lifetime of hell with no end in sight. Not for the first time, Carrie wondered what life would be like now if she hadn’t looked away.
“Well, hello Killigrews!” The voice was warm and familiar, easing Carrie away from darkness. Rose smiled and slipped her a secretive wink as she held up a tray of cups. “How are we all doing?”
Joy clasped a hand to her chest. “Oh, what a show! The children looked marvellous, don't you think?”
“Didn’t they? That big bugger over there’s quite impressive, too!” Rose laughed as she nodded at the giant devil, who was starting to wilt in the heat. “That was my Natalie, you know. She designed it all by herself!”
The Killigrews all smiled and commented on Nat’s talent.
“How are you, love?” Rose said. She stared at Carrie, a frown rippling the space between her eyebrows.
“Hot and sweaty.” Why was Rose staring at her like that? Like she was disappointed? “Did you see Melissa?”
“Oh, yes! The little bird looked like she was having the time of her life!” Rose glanced up at Dylan. Then back at Carrie. “Well, grab a drink because the ceremony is starting in five minutes. After the year you’ve had, I’d advise drinking every last drop!”
Dylan leaned forward, taking a cup. “I'll drink to that,” he said, then lifted it to his lips.
“What are you doing?�
�� Joy snapped, grabbing him by the wrist and lowering it back down.
“Bloody hell, Mum! Next you’ll have me throwing salt over my shoulder and dancing naked on a full moon.”
Joy wrinkled her face. “No one ever needs to see that.”
Taking two cups from Rose’s tray, she handed one to Gary and shot him a warning glance. He shrugged and stared wistfully at the beer tent.
“Carrie? You having one?” Rose held up the tray.
Carrie stared at the cups of sparkling cider. Memories of Thursday night swamped her mind and churned her stomach. “No, I think I’ll stick to water.”
“Everyone needs to drink to make the offering work,” Joy said, her voice suddenly sharp. “Even those who think they’re beyond reproach.”
Dylan frowned. “Wow, Mum. Be nice. If Carrie doesn't want to drink, she shouldn’t have to.”
“Why not? From what I hear, Carrie does lots of things she shouldn’t.”
Carrie opened her mouth, then shut it again.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Dylan said.
Joy glanced at Gary, who stared at the ground. “Nothing. I'm sorry. The heat must be getting to me.”
Rose cleared her throat and flashed a smile. “Well, here's to happier times ahead. Now, I best get the rest of these handed out or Mayor Prowse will have my guts for garters.” She turned to leave, then frowned again. “By the way, you haven’t seen Natalie, have you?”
The four of them shook their heads.
“Well, if you do, tell her to get her backside down to the beach.”
Giving Carrie one last concerned look, Rose slipped away into the crowd.
She knows, Carrie thought, clenching her jaw. She was going to kill Dottie Penpol. Joy Killigrew, too. She glared at her mother-in-law, who had turned her back and was pretending to watch the fun fair. Carrie and Joy had never been close, but they’d always been amicable. Even in those early days, when Carrie and Dylan had first got together, Joy had been kind and welcoming, and she hadn’t shied away from Carrie’s grief. There had been a handful of times when talking about her lost son had reduced Carrie to tears. Joy had handed her tissues and fussed over her, making her tea and cake. Which had been more than her own mother had done.
To see Joy turn so cold and prickly hurt more than she’d anticipated. But Joy was a mother. And mothers would kill to protect their children.
“Mummy!”
Melissa ran towards Carrie, her pirate costume dishevelled and her eyepatch twisted around to the side of her head.
Behind her, a tired and sweaty gaggle of mermaids, robots, and butterflies, were being herded towards waiting parents by their teacher, Miss Rhodda. Seeing Melissa with her family, Miss Rhodda waved a hand and did her best to avoid making eye contact with Carrie.
“Did you see me, Mummy?” Melissa asked as she wrapped her arms around Carrie’s thighs. “Did you see me in the parade?”
Carrie crouched down and hugged her. “Of course I did, sweet pea. We were all watching. Me, your dad, Nana Joy and Grandpa Gary. You looked magnificent!”
Melissa beamed at her family. Then she pulled away from Carrie and ran to Dylan, who swept her up in his arms and spun her around, before planting a kiss on her forehead.
“Ahoy there, Cap’n Killigrew!” he said in a gruff pirate voice. “How's my ruler of the seven seas?”
“Good, Daddy! It was fun! Can I have ice cream?”
“Well, I don't know about that. Have you been a good pirate – plundering ships and stealing buried treasure?”
Melissa laughed and nodded. She twisted around in Dylan's arms to face her grandparents. “Did you see me, Nana Joy? I saw you and Grandpa Gary!”
Joy reached out and gently squeezed her cheek. “You were the best thing in the whole parade!”
“Oh, I don't know about that,” Grandpa Gary said with a wry wink. “That big old devil over there was pretty impressive.”
“Grandpa Gary!” Melissa cried, making him smile. She seemed to be the only one who could.
Carrie watched them, ignoring twinges of jealousy and guilt. Then she was looking beyond her daughter, scanning the crowds again, watching all the other, happier families, and missing Cal so much it hurt. She would go to see him again. Soon. She would –
A group of teenagers caught her eye. They were huddled together by the promenade railings, all wearing identical masks – the grinning, maniacal face of the Devil.
“Carrie?” Dylan said. “You want to take her for ice cream, or shall I?”
The teenagers were unmoving, masked faces frozen on the crowds.
“Carrie?”
“What?”
“The ice cream?”
She stared at Dylan, then at Melissa, who wriggled impatiently in her father’s arms.
“I’ll go,” she said. “You stay here with her.”
“Okay. Anyone else for ice cream?”
Gary shook his head. Joy muttered no thanks.
“So, just me then,” Dylan said, smiling.
Melissa pinched his nose. “And me, Daddy! And me!”
Now the masked teenagers were on the move, heading away and disappearing into the throng. You’re being paranoid, Carrie told herself. Paranoid and feeling guilty as hell.
She glanced at Melissa, forced a smile. “Scoop or cone?”
“Cone, of course!”
“And a chocolate flake?”
Melissa raised her eyebrows. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“Melissa Killigrew!” Joy cried. She glanced at Gary, who was desperately trying not to smile, then at Dylan who was erupting with laughter. “Where did you hear such a horrible thing?”
Melissa shrugged. “School.”
“Well, your Nana is right, sweet pea. We don't use that kind of language.” Carrie glanced nervously at Joy, who didn’t look away. It was a small reprieve, but it was a reprieve all the same. “I’ll be right back.”
Running a hand across Melissa’s cheek, Carrie headed away from her family. Tears stung her eyes. If only she could love Dylan the way he loved her. She had tried, so many times. For a long while, she’d convinced herself that she was in love with him. Maybe she had been. But not now.
She still cared about him a great deal and together they’d produced Melissa – a child to replace the one she’d lost – how could she not feel gratitude for that? But their relationship had been borne from her grief. It had been a smokescreen. An intricately spun distraction.
When Cal had come back, the illusion had shattered. She and Dylan had hurt each other. They were both still reeling. Wasn’t it better to end their marriage now than to drag it over broken glass?
Carrie glanced back at Dylan, who still had Melissa in his arms and was listening intently to her chatter. She smiled a sad smile, then headed for the ice cream van. There was a long line of people in front of her, all hot and red-faced and growing impatient. Some of them held cups of cider and were glancing down, tongues running over parched lips. But if there was one thing the British were good at, it was waiting for the right moment.
Which was almost upon them.
The marching band came to the end of their song and fell silent. The quiet was startling, almost physical. Even the jangly tunes of the fun fair had been cut short.
Carrie leaned to the left then to the right, straining to get a clear view of the beach through the bodies. A crackling shriek of feedback made the crowds collectively hiss and clench their teeth. Then Carrie heard the rasping voice of Mayor Prowse – a man mostly known for showing up drunk to his ceremonial duties. Today was no different.
“Is this thing on?” he bellowed over the portable PA system. Not the most poetic start, Carrie thought, then grimaced as Mayor Prowse cleared his phlegm-filled throat.
From somewhere to her right, a cry rang out. Startled, she turned to see what the trouble was, but now that everyone had stopped still for the ceremony, it was impossible to get a clear view of anything.
“Right, we’ll be
gin,” Mayor Prowse was saying, his words slurring together. Carrie wondered how long he’d been in the beer tent before making his way down to the beach. She stepped to the left, trying to get a better view, and saw glimpses of the beach. The three slipways. People gathered at the head of each one. Mayor Prowse swaying on a makeshift stage, microphone in one hand, the other raised above his head. She saw him turn to face the ocean before her view was obscured once more.
“Oh, Satan, purveyor of darkness, hear my plea! Take not our children but this offering to the sea. Close the gate for another year, let us keep our children, you can keep the beer.”
Laughter rippled through the crowds. Followed by another cry, this time closer.
Carrie spun around.
On the other side of Cove Road, a man had collapsed and was having some sort of seizure on the ground. Two paramedics hurried towards him from a nearby ambulance. Carrie watched them with mounting concern, glad that she hadn't brought Melissa with her to the ice cream van. Heat like the town was experiencing today was unusual for this time of year; she was surprised more people hadn't been taken ill.
And yet, that uneasy feeling that had been trailing her through the town suddenly reappeared.
The paramedics were bent over the fallen man now. More curious onlookers gathered around, blocking Carrie’s view. She turned back, noticing how nearly everyone in the crowd was watching the beach, cups of cider half raised, ready for the toast.
“Oh, Devil, master of all sin and atrocity!” the mayor cried dramatically, making the PA speakers rumble and pop. “We give you this offering and beseech that you leave us be!”
Something was happening. Some sort of disturbance further along the promenade.
Carrie narrowed her eyes, straining to see.
Nat emerged from the throng, pushing and shoving, screaming at people to get out of her way.
Carrie sucked in a shocked breath. Nat was deathly white, her face dripping with perspiration, her eyes wide and startled – the expression of someone deep in shock. Leaving the ice cream van behind, Carrie headed straight for her.
“Nat!” she called, waving a hand as she ducked and darted through families and couples.
The Devil's Gate Page 20
