Authors: Max China
The men sprinted to the fence where Bruce had been just a few minutes earlier. His father vaulted the wire and crossed to the other side of the field calling his son's name. Bruce's grandfather bent to pass between the strands, and then standing upright on the other side, eased his palms into the small of his back to help it straighten up again. He watched his son a hundred yards away, charging in and out of the trees, wasting his efforts.
The young … they have so much energy.
Eyes half closed; he stared through the ferns. The narrowing of vision enabled a sharpening of focus, and he was able to dismiss the animal runs at low-level, and pick out the fronds most likely bent by the shoulders of a child.
"Wait, I have found his path!" The old man waded through the undergrowth with a speed that belied his seventy-five years of age.
He pointed through the trees, and said, "Bruce went that way." A startled look crossed his face. "Mother of God, we must be quick. He is in danger!"
Bursting through the undergrowth, driven by fear, they followed a trail only his grandfather could see.
Chapter 4
The girl in the purple seersucker dress climbed all the way up, just to come down the same way she knew
he
would have. At its highest point, Lei stopped to admire the view. She rested herself on a boulder smoothed by wind and ages, and imagined three weeks ago he might have stopped there too, taking a drink after the long climb, rucksack at his feet while he surveyed the dale that stretched out below, into the distance.
The valley sat between two granite escarpments almost a quarter of a mile apart. The landscape changed from rock to shale, dropping away sharply, before becoming a gentle slope with patches of yellowish grass and scrub that grew wherever the roots could take hold, getting greener further down the hill where it flattened out around the stream.
A student in geology, she took in the extent of the flood plain and the displacement of pebbles and sandy deposits; it told her how, during heavy rain, it became a full-fledged river. She imagined the roar of the water, white and foaming, fed by the fingers of channels funnelling off from the slopes. The waters would swell, spilling out over bends that could contain it no more, settling back when the rains ceased, becoming once again a thin ribbon of water to gurgle its way over smooth stones, around rocks and boulders, before disappearing into a wooded glade.
The woods concealed the site of a tragedy, a system of workings and shafts, where thirty-nine miners lost their lives during one black day in the summer of 1857. A combination of freak weather and poor engineering had caused the mine to flood and then collapse. Soon after the deluge, downhill from the mine's entrance, a large swallow-hole had appeared in the ground and filled with water. Silt plugged its fissures and cracks, building up over time until the pond became permanent. Ferns, nettles and blackberry bushes, grew up in the gaps between the variety of trees that had taken root around it over the years, encircling and completing its concealment.
Seen from high above, the body of water appeared malignant, vigilant. The texture of the vegetation surrounding it, forming warty upper and lower lids, totally shaded and utterly black, like the open eye of a giant, perfectly camouflaged prehistoric creature.
A buzzard circled lazily against the silent backdrop of a cloudless blue sky. The mid-August sun beat down without mercy. In the meadow below, the girl was only visible above the waist.
Lei stopped to unhitch her rucksack. Cool fresh air passed over her back. She untied her jet-black hair and shook her head, allowing the glossy mane to cascade almost to her middle. After flexing her shoulder blades, she resumed walking, carrying the sack by the straps. The weight of it made her change hands frequently. Her fingers trailed through the dry tips of the long grass without a sound, but every stride whispered and rasped against the serrated leaves, scratching her legs, which stung as perspiration formed, finding its way into tiny cuts. At first, thinking some sort of insect was biting her, she looked to below her knees; the skin was red and blotchy. Already she'd hiked around seven miles, and sensing she was close to her destination, she took a map from her backpack to check.
The sudden disappearance of her boyfriend and the guilt she felt because of it had left her a little unstable and more likely to take risks. Earlier, she'd traversed a ledge that she should never have tackled without equipment, but she no longer cared.
She was breaking all the same rules that she'd spelled out to him.
Always tell someone where you're going, when you'll be back, and never go alone.
Thomas was a caver and abandoned mine explorer. When he'd said he was going to scout the site of an old mine disaster, she refused to go with him. They'd argued about it.
If you don't come with me, I'm going alone!
She didn't believe for a minute he'd carry out his threat. Lei was sure he'd find someone else to accompany him, but the next thing she knew, he'd disappeared. It turned out that he did go on his own, and she felt incredibly guilty.
If she'd only gone with him . . .
Now, she was going there anyway. The derelict Victorian mine complex down in the valley. The last place he'd still been alive.
In her heart, she knew he was dead, but she was convinced that if his spirit lingered, it would linger there. Rescuers found his tent pitched near the mine's entrance. It was empty, his equipment missing. Unable to find any trace of him outside, the rescue team concluded that he must have decided to sleep in the mine. Perhaps, because of the recent heatwave, he'd found the constant temperature inside preferable. A few hundred yards into the mine, a fresh roof fall, had rendered the whole section unstable, making it impossible to continue the search. In places like that, a single cough would be enough to trigger a further collapse. He wouldn't have stood a chance. The mine was now his grave.
It had taken her a full three weeks to summon the strength to travel there to pay her last respects, going on impulse when she realised the date, and what day it was.
Ghost Day.
Her Chinese origins meant she believed that just for one day the gates of Heaven and Hell would open, allowing the dead a reunion with the living. Thomas hadn't had a proper ritual send-off. The gods had granted her the opportunity to do it on this day. Suddenly it felt important.
With little time left to prepare, she phoned work and reported in sick. She never told anyone she was going.
The rucksack contained offerings to nourish and guide his spirit. As she was a part-time florist, she'd also taken along scissors and string, and she made up a wild flower bouquet as she sauntered along. She would build a rocky shrine and then place lit candles inside, with joss sticks, food and a poem she'd written for him. When today was over, she would return to Hong Kong. There she would learn to live without him, but she would remember him most especially on this day, every year into the future.
Three years together, gone . . . just like that. Her throat tightened at the thought.
Over to her right at the bottom of the hill, a scattering of trees marked the edge of a densely wooded area.
Eager to get into the woods and out of the sun's direct heat, she quickly crossed a field of swaying ferns.
At the margins of the wood beyond the canopy, dappled light dropped through the leaves, making a patchwork of sunshine and shade on the ground beneath. It looked so cool and appealing that she wandered in deeper.
So peaceful and quiet, only the occasional buzz of a fly and the gentle gurgling of a brook broke the silence. She approached the water's edge. In the curve of a long looping bend, there was a place where the banks flattened, making an expanse of pebbles like a small beach.
Her new Doc Martens were the most comfortable trekking boots she'd ever worn, but they made her feet hot, so she removed them, along with her socks. She couldn't wait to dip her toes in the cold water and crunched unsteadily towards it, holding the footwear by its laces. With stones digging painfully into her bare soles, she skipped and jerkily tiptoed to get the stream quicker.
Nearer the water, where larger, smooth grey boulders sat in the margins, she stepped in something slimy; the mud below oozed, blackening her foot as it sank into it, releasing a sulphurous odour. She found a rock with a flattish top, hitched her dress up, sat down and dangling her bare feet in the cool stream, rinsed the black sludge from between her toes. She decided to put the boots back on, before crossing the shale again.
The sound of gravel crunching behind made her jump. Heart thumping wild and afraid, chest tight, she spun around sharply.
Nothing there!
She sighed with relief. Turned, and then froze.
A stranger stood before her, the rank odour of his sweat and stale cigarette smoke assailing her nostrils.
His eyes made his intentions clear.
Chapter 5
He didn't give her a chance to scream. Clamping her mouth with a powerful hand, he fastened the other at the base of her skull, pressing against it hard. The force of his grip made her eyes bulge, filling them with fear.
Afterwards, he smoked a cigarette, thinking about the girl he'd just met.
If she'd come by tomorrow, she would have missed him; it was his last Saturday; he'd finished the demolition contract he was working on, and he was pleased about that.
Never stay too long in one place.
He couldn't explain it, but he had just known there would be one more. Things happen in threes. Was he really to blame if the Devil sent them his way?
He'd already committed the girl to his memory. Blessed with photographic recall, everything stayed in his head. He never took trophies from the women he killed, and although he left nothing behind, he had taken something from a man two weeks earlier. It didn't matter; he could have found it left behind on the beach, or at a jumble sale.
How would they find you, if you told no one, and left no trace? They'd have to catch you in the act.
He took a long last draw on the butt of his cigarette and then flicked it into the water.
At the edge, she waited for him.
Stooping, he picked the body up in one smooth, effortless movement, and heaved her over his shoulder, he then squatted to gather her possessions with his free hand. Now he was ready to take her beyond and into the woods. Her lifeless arms trailed limply down his back.
A scraping of pebbles close behind stopped him dead.
What the . . . !?
The man dropped her roughly to the ground, turning and looking in the direction of the sound in one fluid movement.
A small boy had slipped over on the rocks. Stunned, he lay still for a moment before rolling over onto his feet and scurrying for cover.
Not quick enough, kid . . . I've seen you! You've given me no choice, but to get rid of you. This is going to be easy.
With his last victim's body left unattended out in the open, the last thing he needed was a chase.
"Comin' to getcha,"
the killer mumbled and started towards him.
Bruce hurried, scraping across the shale until he reached the cover of the low scrub that grew in patches along the bank. After fifty yards, the bushes ran into a huge boulder - a dead end. He had to make a choice, run, or gamble on staying put. He was in two minds, and one of them didn't seem like the mind of a seven-year-old. An inner voice told him to stay still. The urge to move gnawed at his legs, making them twitchy. His ragged breathing deprived him of oxygen, and left him close to panic. He wondered if his parents or grandfather would find him in time.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.
Stay put!
Where are you, Dad?
He remembered taking the car for repairs with his father one Saturday morning. The mechanic wore the same style of clothes the man looking for him now was wearing; a garage suit covered in grease, black where it should have been blue. The garage man kept a guard dog, which escaped while Bruce played in the storage area behind the workshop. Freed from its cage, the enraged animal attacked a group of people who'd called in to view cars. In the chaos and confusion that followed, it evaded capture, and then it saw Bruce. The dog advanced on him, emitting a low growl; it seemed wary of him. The boy closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. His hand closing over his seashell, he pulled it from his pocket and held it out for protection.
Where are you, Dad?
Saliva flew as it snapped at him. He felt the heat of its breath on his face as vicious jaws snatched at empty air, driven back by a mighty kick.
It was his dad!
His father scooped him up in his arms; a group of men managed to keep the dog contained.
The shell, it's magic!
It brought my dad to save me.
The tramping of heavy boots sent loose stones skittering, clattering across the hard-packed surface between the rocks nearby and then abruptly stopped. There wasn't a sound in the air, apart from his heart beating heavily in his ears, and his ragged breathing. Bruce fought to control it. In . . . out . . . in . . . out.