The Devil's Gate

by Malcolm Richards

  He turned and nodded to two boys who were barely in their teens. Both carried backpacks on their shoulders. Carrie watched as they removed the bags and pulled out plastic containers, along with tubes of paper cups.

  One by one, they filled each cup with glistening liquid and passed them around the circle, until every child held one in their hand.

  Carrie’s blood ran cold. The children stared at the cups, then uncertainly at each other.

  “What are you doing?” Carrie’s voice trembled. She tried to take a step forward, but the blade bit deeper into her flesh, making her scream.

  One of the boys handed a cup to Heath, then entered the circle, bringing a second cup to Carrie. Keeping his distance, he held it out.

  Carrie stared at it, mouth hanging open. “I'm not drinking that.”

  Heath smiled, pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his waist and put it to Melissa's throat.

  “Yes, you will,” he said. “Our parents are dead. We need a new mother in the Dawn. I choose you.”

  Carrie shook her head, over and over. “No. I can’t.”

  “You can. It’s easy. Just lift it to your lips and tip it back. Pretend it’s wine, if you like.”

  “No. Please. Let my daughter go.”

  The sirens were getting louder. There were several of them, all melding into one cacophonous wail.

  Tears splashed down Carrie’s face. She met Melissa’s blank gaze. “Sweet pea. I’m so sorry!”

  “Don’t be,” Heath said. “Drink and you'll see her on the other side.” He turned to the children. “Drink! We’ll all go together, hand in hand, into the New Dawn.”

  The children stared at the cups, then around the circle. No one drank.

  Heath’s face grew dark and thunderous.

  “You're making them doubt!” he hissed at Carrie. “You're making them confused, just like Cal did to Jacob!”

  He grabbed Melissa’s hair and pulled her neck back, pressing the blade against her skin.

  “Drink!” he screamed.

  Carrie’s whole body trembled as she stared into the cup, at the sticky liquid rippling inside. She stared at her daughter, at the blade pressed to her neck.

  Sobbing, she tried to raise the cup to her lips, but her body betrayed her, its survival instincts kicking in.

  “Then she fucking dies!” Heath screamed.

  One of the teenagers, a girl no older than fourteen, shook her head.

  “Children are sacred,” she said. “Children are the New Dawn. That's what Jacob said.” The other children murmured and nodded. “We don’t hurt each other.”

  It was as if Heath couldn’t see her. His eyes were burning into Carrie’s, seething with hate.

  “Children are sacred,” the girl repeated. “Children are –”

  “Shut your fucking mouth and drink your fucking drink!” He turned on the circle, face flushing the colour of blood. “Don't you understand? They're coming for us! The monsters are coming to tear us all apart! Save yourselves before it’s too late! Drink and go into the New Dawn!”

  A boy, no older than ten, raised the cup to his mouth.

  “No!” Carrie screamed. “You’ll die!”

  The others copied the boy, their blank expressions returning.

  “Now you,” Heath said, staring at Carrie. He pulled Melissa’s head back further, pushing the blade against her neck.

  Carrie raised the cup.

  “I'm sorry, sweet pea!” she screamed. “Close your eyes for Mummy!”

  She pressed the cup to her lips.

  The Dawn Children did the same.

  And then the Devil stepped out from behind a tree.

  Heath turned in surprise. Saw the Devil lift a hand and squeeze. Lighter fuel spurted over Heath’s face and rained down over his clothes.

  Carrie tossed the cup to one side. She leaned forward, grabbed the hilt of the knife with both hands and wrenched it from her thigh. Pain shot up to her head and down to her toes. Blood spurted from the wound.

  Heath dropped his blade and staggered backwards, rubbing his eyes with one hand, dragging Melissa behind him with the other.

  The Devil stalked after him, yellow eyes glowing, sharp teeth flashing. It struck a match against the side of a tree and a flame sparked to life.

  Carrie stumbled forward, knife raised. She plunged the blade into Heath’s wrist.

  He screamed and let go of Melissa.

  Carrie pulled her daughter away. Blood gushed from her thigh and drenched her leg.

  The Dawn Children stared, cups still poised at their lips, mesmerised by the Devil. Who was reaching up and pulling off its mask.

  Nat stared at Heath. Her face twisted with burning hatred.

  She flicked the match.

  Carrie watched it sail through the air. Listened to the whoosh of igniting fuel.

  Then Heath was burning. Screaming at the top of his lungs. Spinning around in circles.

  The Dawn Children sprang back, dropping their cups to the ground. They watched in horror as their leader was engulfed in a ball of fire.

  Heath ran. Made it five steps. Then he went down. Quiet and still. His body consumed by flames.

  The Dawn Children scattered, running in all directions.

  There were other voices now. Adults, shouting instructions, coming through the trees.

  Carrie held onto Melissa, pressed her daughter’s face into her stomach, shutting out all the horror.

  Nat stood, perfectly calm, watching Heath burn, flames dancing and shimmering in her eyes.

  The day was growing dim; thick smoke from a burning town smothering all light.

  Carrie glanced down at her leg, saw how much blood she'd lost.

  She was cold.

  Growing weaker by the second.

  She held onto Melissa, stroked her hair.

  “You’re safe, sweet pea,” she whispered. “You’re safe now.”

  Then Carrie fell.

  The world turned red.

  Then white.

  Then gold.

  Like a New Dawn.

  42

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  NAT SAT IN THE CRAMPED living room of the second floor flat, traffic noise from below rattling the windows. Pencil poised, she looked up from her sketchpad and stared at her subject. Then let out a frustrated sigh.

  “I wish you'd stop moving. Do you have ants in your pants or what?”

  Sitting on a stool in the corner, arms wrapped around a soft brown bear, Melissa stared at her in silence. She was too pale, the light gone out of her eyes. She shrugged, squeezed the bear to her chest, and looked out the window. “I want to watch TV.”

  “Everything okay in here?” Carrie appeared in the doorway, running a brush through her hair.

  Nat pulled a face. “Ask Miss Thing over there. Apparently posing for a portrait is boring.”

  Carrie limped into the room, favouring her right leg. Dropping the brush on the table, she swept her hair back into a ponytail as she glanced down at Nat’s sketchpad. “That will look nice in a frame when it's done.”

  “The only place this is going is in the bin.”

  “Like hell it is. I’ll hang it in my bedroom so you don’t have to see it.” She glanced over at Melissa. Felt a twinge of worry. “You okay, sweet pea?”

  Melissa nodded. “Fine.”

  Carrie’s gaze shifted to Nat, saw the same haunted expression. It was a familiar look. All three of them had been wearing it lately.

  “Well, I'm heading out,” Carrie said, bending down to ruffle her daughter's hair. She winced as dull pain shot through her thigh. “I won't be long. Two hours max. You sure you're okay to watch her?”

  Nat rolled her eyes. “I can take care of a five-year-old brat. It's not rocket science.”

  “No, but you’ll be seeing stars if you call my daughter a brat again.” Carrie shot her a wry smile. Nat only stared. “Are you sure you're okay? You seem glummer than usual.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “An
d I’m a master at seeing through crap. What’s wrong? Is it the will? Because if you don’t want the money, I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

  Nat opened her mouth. Shut it again as she slowly shook her head. “I still can't believe she left me everything. I don't understand why.”

  “You don’t?” Carrie rubbed the side of her leg. Physiotherapy was helping, but it still hurt like a bastard. “Rose left you that money because she loved you. Because in her eyes, you were her daughter. Why wouldn’t she leave you that money?”

  She stared at Nat, whose eyes were wet and glossy. She looked away, covering her tears. Carrie shuffled over and placed a hand on her shoulder. Nat flinched.

  “When I get back, we’ll get that application done and sent off tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, about that...”

  “No. I don't want to hear any excuses. We both know art school is what you want. Rose did, too. So get over your ‘I don't deserve this. I'm a terrible person’ bullshit and let’s get that form finished tonight. We’re almost out of time.”

  Nat shrugged and wiped her eyes, exposing the ugly scar tissue on her right hand. “Whatever.”

  “Now I’m really off this time,” Carrie said, returning to Melissa and stroking her face. “I'll be back soon, sweet pea. Be good for Nat. Maybe I'll bring you back an ice cream. Maybe I’ll even let you eat it before dinner.”

  Melissa stared at her, blank eyes round and hollow. Carrie straightened, made it over to the door before she turned around again. “Are you sure you’ll –”

  “My God, woman! Just go!”

  THE HOSPITAL WAS A ten minute drive through busy city streets. Carrie was still getting used to life in Bristol. She'd been so busy that there’d barely been time to explore her new surroundings. All she knew was that any place was better than the hell she’d left behind.

  The trial had come and gone last month. Cal had been lucky. The defence team had presented enough compelling evidence to convince the jury that he hadn't been in control when he'd killed John Beaumont and stabbed his grandmother. The verdict had been what they’d hope for – manslaughter due to diminished responsibility. Even better, instead of serving his time at a young offenders institute, he'd remain at the hospital, under the care of Dr Jensen and a team of specialists, where he’d continue to receive treatment, until it was deemed that he was well enough – and safe enough – to be released. No one knew when that would be. A year. Two. Maybe never. Only time would tell.

  Strangely enough, the massacre at Devil’s Cove had helped his case, the defence using it to demonstrate how a child’s mind could succumb to severe mental abuse and manipulation. How a child could be coerced into committing murder.

  Eight hundred and twenty-six people had been murdered that day, the poison killing half of them, the fires finishing off the rest. Not quite beating Jonestown on the scale of cult massacres but coming damn close. Eight hundred and twenty-six people, including Dylan, his parents Joy and Gary, and poor, dear Rose. Carrie was still having trouble processing their deaths. She knew the grief would come and when it did, it would floor her. But right now, she was focused on her children.

  Melissa was in therapy. Cal was in the hospital. All she wanted was for them both to be well.

  As for Porth an Jowl, it was a ghost town. The survivors who hadn’t lost everything in the fire had abandoned their homes and moved elsewhere. Now the Devil was free to roam the empty streets as he pleased.

  With Heath dead, the remaining Dawn Children had run. But they hadn’t got very far. Most of them were currently locked away in secure homes and institutes, their fates still unresolved. In an atrocity like this, how did you prove who was a killer and who was a victim? Could a five-year-old even be charged with murder? The judicial system was wringing its hands.

  Two minutes had passed since Carrie had parked in one of the visitor bays. She sat behind the wheel, staring up at the hospital, sucking in deep breaths and letting them out in steady streams. She glanced up at the rear-view mirror, at her washed out, gaunt reflection.

  “You can do this,” she whispered, like she did every time she came here. “Do it for him.”

  Leaving the car, she entered the hospital and went through the usual security checks. Now she sat at a table in an empty room, not a sharp object in sight. A door opened and he was brought in.

  Cal. Her son.

  His hair had grown since she’d last seen him. He’d put on a little weight, too. He was still short for his age, probably always would be. But he was alive. He sat across from Carrie, his large, haunted, beautiful eyes staring straight at her. By the door, the usual tall nurse stood with his arms folded across his powerful chest, his gaze fixed on the window in an attempt to give them at least the impression of privacy.

  Carrie stared at Cal. Stared into his eyes. Sometimes it was like staring into space, thousands of glittering stars staring right back.

  She smiled at him. “How is my favourite son?”

  Nothing. No response. At least he was looking at her this time. She shifted on the hard plastic seat, a dull ache in her thigh waking up.

  “Well,” she said. “We’re all moved into the new flat. It's okay, I suppose. A little cramped and it could do with a lick of paint. The street’s not exactly quiet. But it's home for now. When you get out, we can find somewhere bigger. Somewhere with enough room for us all.”

  She leaned back. Glanced at the nurse by the door, feeling awkward and lost for words. Cal was still staring at her, eyes piercing her soul.

  “I spoke to Dr Jensen this week. She said she's feeling really positive about the outcome of the trial, and that she's happy you get to stay here. In fact, she said she's quite confident that she can help you. That's good, isn't it? It’s good to have someone else on your side.”

  Cal stared, unblinking.

  Carrie squirmed on the chair. The throbbing in her thigh intensified as she shifted her weight. “I heard your dad came to visit. That's great! I also heard he got a little upset, but not because of you. He's just a little overwhelmed, that’s all. Probably needs some more time to get used to seeing you here. But he'll come around.”

  She stared at her son. At Cal. Feeling a sudden desperation tightening her chest. She glanced at the nurse, who was still gazing at the window, then placed a hand on the table.

  Come on. Think of something else to say.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I had a postcard from Sally the other week. She and your grandfather are heading out to Australia. Can you believe it? I swear one day they’ll sail off the edge of the world.”

  Her chest was growing tighter. The air in the room thinner. She leaned forward, staring into her son’s dark eyes.

  “Please, Cal,” she whispered. “Please, say something.”

  A small crease appeared between his eyebrows.

  “Are you in there? Is my boy still in there?”

  His nostrils were flaring now. The frown pressing deeper into his skin.

  “I miss you so much. So much. Won’t you say anything?”

  Tears ran down Carrie’s face and hit the table in pitiful drips and drops. Cal stared at her, his chest heaving up and down. She was making him angry. Getting him worked up. Doing all the things Dr Jensen said she shouldn't do.

  Carrie leaned back and tried to centre herself.

  Was it pointless? This coming here every two weeks, trying to reach him, over and over, only to fail, over and over. Her son was gone. Just like she’d told poor, dear Rose that afternoon at the town hall. She was talking to a shell. The grief in her heart would never leave her.

  Not until she said goodbye.

  Not until she set him free.

  Wiping her eyes, Carrie sucked in another breath and forced a smile to her lips. Inside, she was dying.

  Go on. Be brave. All you’re doing is killing each other.

  “Well, I should probably get back. Nat's looking after Melissa and I'm not sure I trust the two of them alone for more than an hour.”

 
; Nothing. Even the frown had disappeared. The breathing returned to normal.

  Do it now. Let him go. Walk out of here and never come back.

  Her heart splintering all over again, Carrie cleared her throat and caught the nurse’s attention. Time to go. Now. Before she broke down.

  “Well, you take care of yourself, Cal. I'll see you again soon.”

  She placed her hands on the table and pushed herself up.

  Cal struck like a cobra, fingers shooting out and wrapping tightly around Carrie’s wrist. Shocked, she stared down at her son’s hand, then into his wide, frightened eyes.

  The nurse started forward. Carrie shook her head.

  “It's okay,” she said.

  She turned back to Cal, who opened his mouth, exposing all his teeth. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes. The grip on her wrist became unbearably tight, nails digging into her flesh, tiny drops of blood welling, pain shooting up to her elbow.

  “What?” Carrie said. “What is it?”

  A strange, strangled noise rose up from his throat.

  Carrie stared at him, hopeful, desperate, unable to look away. “What is it?”

  Cal’s face turned red. And then he spoke.

  Just four words. Barely whispered.

  “Mum,” he said. “I love you.”

  DEAR READER

  AND SO THE DEVIL’S Cove saga comes to a bitter-sweet end. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey and found it to be a wild, grisly, moving, nerve-shredding ride. If you did, I’d be hugely grateful if you’d spare a minute or two to write a review on the website you purchased the books from. Just a few words will go a long way to help new readers decide to give the Devil’s Cove trilogy a try.

  If you ever find yourself in Cornwall, do visit St Michael’s Mount, Penzance, St Ives and Falmouth – they are all lovely places with not a murderous cult member in sight. Porth an Jowl aka Devil’s Cove is entirely fictional, but if you pay a visit to the beach town of Perranporth, you’ll get a good look at the place that inspired its look and feel.

  As they say in Cornwall, yeghes da!