by Rob Parker
The bodies brought up of The Boys, as they had become known, had all had their individual genetic makeups examined. And it pointed to all the more unsettling revelations. Madeline Morgan was each one’s mother—including the toddler, in a direct DNA maternal lineage. The issue of fatherhood for each boy, was much more varied and unsettling. The two who killed Fletcher Adams, their DNA revealed a paternal link to another body pulled out, the gatekeeper, Jeff, although it had been diluted. Another generation had gone between.
Jeff was their grandfather.
Traces of Jeff’s genetic lineage were also present in the two younger ‘boys’, namely the runt and the one with the perfect white head. But again, another generation along. He was their great grandfather, and they in turn were the sons of the other boys, one each.
It took a long time for her to work it out, and even longer to actually want to get it down, but Grace got there in the end, and had to commit one of the most disturbed family trees in history to paper.
At the top? Madeline and Jeff. He was an old employee, who, while working at the asylum, had fallen for a mass murderer, and they’d had a child. And he’d got a job at Blackstoke Estate presumably to reconnect with the son he thought he’d lost.
And under them? A question mark. And next to that had to be an arrow bringing Madeline down again. Mother, procreating with son.
Under that entirely unnatural union, the two Alice had described in her statements as Maroon and Cue Ball, which were as good a set of names as any. And another arrow, for Madeline again. Grandmother and grandsons having children now. Joyce found it hard to get the titles for the familial roles right at this point, it was so muddled and confusing.
Under that, was The Runt, and the Toddler.
Madeline Morgan was the mother of every single boy in there, while some of the boys were also brothers and parents to each other as well.
It made Grace’s head hurt, and stomach lurch.
That wasn’t the whole tale. There had been others. In the firepit, the authorities had found a number of older bones of other newborns.
There were many others that hadn’t made it.
And the question mark?
The one they saw with the gatekeeper. The one Jeff was pleading to.
She heard him call him Simon.
It had to be him.
Simon was the only one born of unrelated parents, and it was thanks to an entire life lived underground that his appearance had been shaped. The feral nature and appearance of his sons was all down to the inbreeding, and their environment concocting a crude evolutionary strand, buffeted and moulded by intermingled familial genetics.
Their behaviour had spiralled. But what could one expect for them?
Grace had been entrusted, she felt, to condemn the boys and their actions in the harshest terms, but what are we if we are not a product of our environment and our direct influences? Their matriarch was a serial killer, certified insane, and she went down in the tunnels with a newborn baby, desperate to survive. She’d remained hidden for years, and then she took, God knew how or when, the decision to procreate with her own son.
That sad sack of grey meat on that bed they’d found all those weeks ago, was the architect of all of this, and then it had all turned on her. She had gone about life in a lawless state, and that lawlessness had run away with itself. Base instincts were important. And with a woman present, the small issue of being their mother was not going to stop the boys from acting on their developing urges. Maybe it got out of hand? Maybe she wouldn’t play ball anymore. She was restrained in childbirth—was she manacled full time? Or was that some primitive mode of labour control the boys had devised?
How much had Madeline Morgan wanted, and how much had happened simply because of the start she had given them?
They would never know until studies were made, and investigations enacted. But, as always, money spoke quicker than science, the need for recompense greater than the search for answers—and the legal matters were all running ahead, muddying the waters, while the research would have to wait until all that had happened. COMUDEV and the rest, they were all only interested in the whose fault, as opposed to the why.
All Grace knew, was that she and her neighbours had set about their new lives in good faith, and neglect from others had meant that the bumps in the night had become real. And they’d all lost a fortune finding that out. Nobody would buy on the estate, or the estate itself now. Whatever happened, COMUDEV was out of pocket already, without the threat of lawsuits from disgruntled ex-customers. And Grace, in a plight familiar to all the Broadoak survivors, had a house that nobody would ever dream of buying—unless she allowed COMUDEV to lie again, and cover it up.
She took her fingers from the water, and brought them to her lips—paused, then pressed the button for more. A button for help. She admired it. How simple it was. How they could have done with them in the tunnels that night.
The nurse arrived soon after, and Grace asked for some more water.
The cases would start soon. And she wanted to represent them all. She had to get going, and stop ruminating.
‘How’s your story going?’ the nurse said.
‘It’s going fine, but it’s not a story,’ replied Grace with a small amount of tetchiness. They were always getting it wrong, the hospital staff, despite how well meaning they obviously were.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said the nurse. ‘The big case coming up?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘And you got all those papers you asked for?’
‘I did. Thank you for helping arrange it.’
‘A pleasure, Grace. Good to keep the mind active in a place like this.’
Grace didn’t reply, as she hated the condescension. Couldn’t understand why her legal work wasn’t taken more seriously in here. But she would get there. She’d get the truth out. And she’d save the survivors again.
‘This is about the hospital isn’t it? Spooky underground place?’ the nurse asked.
‘Yes, with the men, as I’ve told you.’
‘Good, I remember. Have you had your medicine?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re being good?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I’ll be back shortly to bob my head in. I’ll let you get back to your project.’
Grace shook her head as she left—and as she did, reached up behind her molars with a finger. After a quick nudge, she pulled out two pink tablets, and put them on the table. She hated the way these one’s made her feel, but the staff were insistent. Said it would keep her calm after her ordeal.
The case was only weeks away, and if she wanted to be there, she had to show them she was capable. That she could manage it. Because if she didn’t, she might be in this place for a very long time indeed.
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU:
To everyone at Red Dog Press, especially Sean Coleman (thank you for taking a chance on this mad story and making it so much better!) and Meggy Roussel (for absolutely everything!). It’s a privilege to be part of the kennel.
To the Northern Crime Syndicate – Trevor Wood, Judith O'Reilly, Fiona Erskine, Chris McGeorge, Adam Peacock, Robert Scragg and Dan Stubbings – and my Blood Brothers – Sean Coleman (you again!) and Chris McDonald. Your support and encouragement means the world.
To my family and friends. Simply, I love you all. Always grateful (just please still talk to me after this one!)
To the writing community – bloggers, readers, authors, everybody. Thank you for everything you do. It's a fabulous place to be, and I feel so lucky and grateful to be a part of it
About the Author
Rob Parker is a married father of three, who lives in a village near Warrington, UK. The author of the Ben Bracken thrillers and the standalone post-Brexit country-noir Crook’s Hollow, he enjoys a rural life on an old pig farm (now minus pigs), writing horrible things between school runs.
Rob writes full time, as well as organising and attending
various author events across the UK – while boxing regularly for charity. Passionate about inspiring a love of the written word in young people, he spends a lot of time in schools across the North West, encouraging literacy, story-telling and creative-writing.
He is also a co-host of the For Your Reconsideration film podcast, and a regular voice on the Blood Brothers crime book podcast.
Also by Rob Parker
The Ben Bracken Thrillers
A Wanted Man
Morte Point
The Penny Black
Till Morning Is Nigh
* * *
Standalone
Crook’s Hollow
* * *
Thirty Miles Trilogy
Far From the Tree
