Chase, p.2
Chase, page 2
There wasn’t much on. The usual diet of reality shows, talent contests and desperate fame seekers was interspersed with the national news (an endless array of depressing stories as far as Amy was concerned) and repeats. She settled on a re-run of an American crime series, rapidly tired of it and found herself grinning at an old episode of South Park.
It was coming to an end when the living room door opened and David re-entered.
He was carrying their seven-year-old daughter.
‘I can’t sleep, Mum,’ David said in a high-pitched whining voice. ‘Dad said I could come down and say goodnight, Mum.’
He tickled Daisy gently and she giggled, her long blonde hair flying around her head as she wriggled in his grip. He sat down next to Amy, still holding his daughter who waited a moment then scrambled over to her mother. David shot out a hand and grabbed her by the neck of her SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas and she giggled again.
‘You’re supposed to be asleep,’ Amy told her.
‘Dad said I could come down and say goodnight,’ Daisy told her.
‘You said goodnight two hours ago,’ Amy reminded her. ‘Have you been to sleep? Dad read you a story like he always does.’
‘He read one about a cat that died and went to heaven,’ Daisy said. ‘It was really good.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ Amy said, raising her eyebrows.
David grinned.
‘Your mum bought it for her last Christmas,’ he explained.
‘It was really good mum,’ Daisy explained. ‘This little girl had this cat called Tiddles and he died and she was upset but...’
‘You can tell me about it in the morning,’ Amy said, trying to sound stern. She prodded Daisy’s nose with one index finger and the little girl chuckled again.
‘And I was thinking about going on holiday too,’ Daisy confessed.
‘You can tell me about that in the morning too,’ Amy added. ‘Bedtime.’
‘But Mum, I can’t wait,’ Daisy said excitedly.
‘Well you’ll have to wait,’ Amy reminded her. ‘We all will.’
‘Will we see Mickey Mouse?’ Daisy continued. ‘And Cinderella? And Harry Potter?’
‘He’s not a Disney character,’ David smiled. ‘And we’re going to the Grand Canyon.’
‘Will we see him though?’ Daisy persisted.
‘Only if you go to bed right now and go to sleep,’ Amy told her daughter.
‘Can I have another story?’ Daisy asked.
‘A quick one,’ David said. ‘A very quick one.’
He scooped his daughter up into his arms and Amy stood too, reaching out to embrace her daughter, planting a kiss on her cheek before David turned away towards the door.
Amy patted him gently on the backside and he looked back at her and smiled, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said.
Amy smiled and once again heard his footsteps receding upstairs.
He was back in less than ten minutes.
‘She’s flat out,’ he said, sitting down beside Amy once again.
‘That was quick,’ Amy told him.
‘She was tired. All the excitement’s worn her out.’
They sat in silence for a moment, Amy resting her bare feet on her husband’s lap. He closed his hands around them, massaging gently.
‘Are you sure we can afford this holiday?’ she said, finally.
‘Yes,’ he said, his gaze never leaving the TV screen, his hands still gently stroking her feet.
‘You’re sure?’
‘We’ve saved for years for it, we’ll be fine.’
‘I know, David, but...’
‘No buts. No more worrying. No more questions. Right? We all need this holiday and we’re taking it.’
Amy nodded.
‘I love you,’ she murmured.
‘Well that’s a good job, because I love you too,’ he grinned.
Amy smiled, the expression widening as David lifted one of her feet and kissed the instep.
‘Time for bed?’ he asked.
‘Yes please,’ Amy breathed.
He pulled her closer to him.
‘We should make sure Daisy’s asleep first,’ Amy said, running one index finger over his cheek.
‘Why, because you make so much noise?’ he murmured.
They both laughed.
David pressed the OFF button on the remote.
‘No one says we have to go upstairs,’ he announced.
Amy smiled and kissed him.
And in that moment, David Carson was aware of nothing else in the world, not even the rain that had started to fall outside and was pattering on the windows.
THE GATHERING
COLORADO, USA
The cellar was well lit.
Flooded with cold white light from the wall and ceiling fluorescents that crackled and buzzed like angry insects.
There were two large wooden worktops on either side of the wide subterranean room, both covered with an array of tools ranging from bolt cutters to blow torches. A chainsaw hung on the wall above one of them, the blade and chain oiled. There were several cans of gasoline pushed into one corner of the room and it was towards one of these that a tall man with a thin face and balding head walked. He picked it up and shook it to ensure that there was sufficient fuel inside then he turned to the fifteen or twenty others people gathered in the cellar.
A number of them nodded approvingly as he wandered back to the centre of the room to join a shorter stockier man who was standing beside one of the roof supports. The thick wooden pillar was a foot or more across.
It easily supported the weight of the boy who was tied to it.
He was barely nine years old. His body held firmly to the pillar by thick rope that had been wound around his waist, chest and arms. There was a piece of dirty rag stuffed into his mouth to prevent him speaking but he made little sound, staring wide-eyed at the interior of the cellar and the people who gazed at him.
As the man with the gasoline approached, he looked in that direction and struggled momentarily against the ropes that bound him, but it was a perfunctory movement with no real hope of success. He was held too securely.
The smaller man moved closer to him and pulled the gag free, wrenching it from the boy’s mouth and tossing it aside. The boy let out a deep breath, as if the gag had been holding the air in his body like a valve. He shuddered against the rope for a second, seeing that the shorter man was holding something but not quite sure what it was. Even when the man stepped in front of him, the boy wasn’t certain what the shiny metallic material was.
Only as it was wound around his head did he realize it was barbed wire.
The barbs cut into his flesh easily as it was pulled tight by the man who was wearing thick rubber gloves to prevent cutting himself. He had several lengths of wire and wrapped each one swiftly and expertly around the boy’s face and head, ignoring the blood that spurted from the wounds that opened.
The boy made no sound except a muted gurgling, doubtless due to the fact that his tongue had been cut out with a pair of secateurs only hours earlier.
Blood ran from his mouth down his chin, mingling with the fresh crimson that was now pouring down his face from the wounds left by the barbed wire.
The shorter man looked directly into his eyes for a second then took another length of barbed wire and wound it securely around his forehead and brow. The sharp barbs punctured one eyeball and clear vitreous fluid mingled with the blood running down his face.
The boy was shuddering now, his body jerking and straining against the ropes, his head occasionally slamming back against the wooden pillar he was tied to but he remained conscious.
He was still conscious when the tall man began splashing him with gasoline.
He could smell it as it soaked into his clothes and stung his ravaged skin. When some of it trickled into his torn eye he shook violently and tried to scream.
The two men stood before him for a moment, looking him up and down, one of them turning towards the watching group.
A woman at the front of the group nodded vigorously and the tall man pulled a lighter from his pocket and held it before the boy, allowing him to see the small flame that was burning there.
‘Do it,’ someone called.
‘Burn him,’ another added.
‘Burn,’ several others called.
The boy looked directly at the lighter flame.
‘Burn.’
The word reverberated around the cellar, chanted now by the entire group it seemed. It grew louder, more frenzied. There was desire and despair in the noise that filled the cellar.
‘Burn.’
The man with the lighter took a couple of steps backwards, away from the boy, dropping to his haunches beside a puddle of gasoline. It had spattered all around the boy and the pillar he was secured to, streams of it soaking the floor of the subterranean room
The tall man lit one of these streams, moving back as it ignited, the gasoline erupting, flames racing along the trail until it reached the boy. He disappeared in an explosion of yellow and white flame that engulfed his body in an instant.
It wasn’t long before the stench of burning flesh began to fill the cellar and those watching clapped and cheered. Some embraced each other.
They stood watching the boy’s body burn.
FOUR
At first David thought he was dreaming.
He heard the sound and thought it was the residue of some subconscious excursion, but as he stirred and turned his head towards the bedroom door he realized that what he’d heard had not been imagined.
Outside the window there was a sudden explosion of white light and David winced as he realized that it was lightening. The storm must have come on during the early hours because he could also hear distant rumbles of thunder too as he swung himself out of bed, trying not to wake Amy in the process.
The sound he’d heard came again.
‘Dad.’
He hurried out of the bedroom and across the landing to Daisy’s room.
He found her sitting up in bed, the duvet pulled up to her face and her head turned towards the window.
‘Dad’s here,’ David said as he crossed to her, closing his arms around her. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’
‘I heard the noises outside,’ Daisy told him.
‘The thunder,’ he told her. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘What is it, Dad?’
‘It’s just the clouds bumping together. I used to tell you that when you were little, do you remember?’
Daisy smiled and nodded but a particularly violent flash of lightning wiped the smile from her features. She grabbed David and clung to him.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’s only lightening. You always get thunder and lightning when there’s a storm, you know that.’
‘So, if thunder is the clouds bumping together, what’s lightening?’
David got her to lay down, sitting on the floor beside her bed he held one of her small hands within his own.
‘When the clouds bump together they make thunder,’ he said, pointing towards the window and waiting for a rumble which duly arrived. ‘the lightening is like sparks where the clouds crash.’
A brilliant white flash illuminated the room and Daisy sucked in an anxious breath but David merely squeezed her hand.
‘It won’t hurt you,’ he said, smiling. ‘When I was a little boy my Dad used to tell me that thunder was God farting.’
Daisy giggled.
‘Granddad used to say that,’ she said, her little body shuddering as she laughed.
David’s grin broadened.
‘He used to say lots of things,’ he explained.
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them looking at the window, listening to the elements beyond. The pounding of the rain and the celestial firework show that periodically lit the room with white light and filled it with thunder.
‘Do you miss him, Dad?’ Daisy said.
David squeezed her hand.
‘Yes I do,’ he whispered. ‘Do you?’
Daisy nodded.
‘He used to make me laugh,’ she said, quietly.
David swallowed hard.
‘He was a good man,’ he said, softly, his voice catching. ‘And he loved you.’ He reached around and tickled Daisy who giggled.
‘Is Grandad in heaven now then, Dad?’ she asked finally.
David raised his eyebrows and nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘He’s probably organising everyone up there,’ he added.
‘Mum doesn’t believe in God, does she?’ Daisy said.
‘What makes you say that?’ David asked.
‘I heard her say it one time. She was talking to Auntie Julie and she said she didn’t believe in God.’
‘Well, that’s mum’s opinion, isn’t it?’
‘But why doesn’t she believe in Him?’
David sighed.
‘Well, when her Dad died, before you were born, Mum got very angry and upset and she sort of turned against God,’ he explained.
Daisy nodded and rubbed her eyes.
‘Not everyone believes in God do they, Dad?’ she asked.
‘Not everyone,’ he explained. ‘Different people believe different things. It’s their opinion. No one’s right or wrong, just different.’
There was another flash of lighting and rumble of thunder.
‘God’s farting again, Dad,’ Daisy chuckled.
David leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
‘You go back to sleep,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Perhaps it’s Granddad farting,’ Daisy added.
David laughed, pausing at her bedroom door.
‘Sleep tight, princess,’ he said. ‘I love you.’
‘Love you too, Dad.’
David left her bedroom door open a fraction, standing motionless outside it for a second before turning and heading back to his own bed.
Outside, the storm continued.
THE HOUSE
COLORADO, USA
The house wasn’t quite in the middle of nowhere but it was pretty close.
Approachable only by a single track that cut practically straight across the countryside for almost five hundred yards once it branched off the service road, it stood in a slight dip in the ground that made it almost invisible until any visitors were within fifty yards of its front door. This, coupled with the trees that grew on three sides of the structure, helped to make it look as if it were hiding from the world. Something that might be an admirable quality to some but might hamper its sale to others.
Solitude was one thing but isolation was something quite different, and the distance from the nearest town might be something that would make the house difficult to sell.
That was one of the thoughts in the mind of Thomas Erikson as he guided the Dodge Durango along the dirt track, muttering to himself each time it passed over the many deep potholes that scarred the ground. He knew the house had been empty for more than a year and he knew that whoever had lived there had obviously never had the approaches to the building levelled to provide a smoother driving surface, but this was appalling.
Erikson saw the next pothole approaching and managed to guide the Dodge around it, just clipping it as he drove by. It jolted the vehicle and he shook his head irritably.
Off to the right there was a small building that he thought at first had been used as a stable, but as he glanced at it he saw that it was windowless, the tiles on the roof were discoloured and missing in many places. If the house was in a similar state of disrepair, he told himself, then it was going to need a hell of a lot of work before anyone parted with their hard-earned money to purchase it. And considering the length of time the property had been empty, there was no reason for him to expect it to be anything other than a mess both inside and out.
When the tenant had died, the bank had been anxious to sell the property in an attempt to recover some of its money and now Erikson was to inspect the house and put a price on it with a view to a sale.
As he drew closer to the building his heart sank even more.
Even from a distance he could see that the outside of the building would need major repairs and decoration.
The area directly in front of the house was overgrown, the grass and weeds almost knee high in most places.
Erikson muttered to himself and brought the Dodge to a halt, sitting behind the wheel for a moment, allowing the song that had been playing on the radio to finish before he switched off the engine and clambered out of the vehicle.
He stood in the sunshine looking at the house for a moment then approached it slowly, his expert eye taking in details here and there.
At the end of the overgrown path leading to the front door Erikson stopped.
He sucked in a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the front of the house.
And, as he stood there, he wondered why every single window frame was sealed with thick black tape.
The front door was the same. Erikson walked up to it and ran his index finger slowly along the black tape, feeling the smoothness, checking the extent of the seal.
He glanced up and saw that the top of the door was not only covered in tape but it was also nailed shut, each metal spike driven through the tape.
Erikson glanced down at the keys in his hand and realized how useless they were. He would have to find another way in.
Twenty minutes later he stood at exactly the same spot shaking his head.
Every single door and window on the property was similarly sealed.
Some had been nailed, some welded closed, but each opening was impenetrable and each was then covered by the same thick black tape, in many places applied in three or four thicknesses.
Thomas Erikson shook his head and wondered how the hell he was going to get inside.
FIVE
The morning brought no respite from the rain.
It was still hammering down but at least the storm had passed. In many places water had laid on the road, the drains having long ago overflowed, unable to cope with the sheer volume of water that had fallen during the night and continued to fall from a sky the colour of wet concrete. News bulletins had already talked about possible records for the amount of rain falling in a twenty-four-hour period and there was, they promised, no respite from the downpour which had been as unexpected as it had been torrential.
