Albatross (21 page)

Predator and Prey

             
The man stalked silently through the night, keeping only to the shadows, moving as a silhouette slipping from one black crevice to another, leaving behind not a trace.

He was well practiced at this.

He had done it many times before.

Leaving one hand trailing behind him, scraping and knocking hungrily on doors and tapping softly on window panes, he knew the sound would drive little Jenny insane.

His free hand tingled then, grabbing his attention, for he could still feel the sense of her warm touch on his skin. Lifting his hand slowly, like a dreadful ritual offering, he ran his tongue along his aching palm, licking it like a wild animal, tasting Jen’s fear.

The flavour sent his senses haywire and he growled deeply in the back of his throat, and the sound was unmistakeably yearning and insatiable.

Unable to control himself any longer, barely able to hold himself back as it was, he smashed his clenched fists against the door, shaking it on its very hinges.

A terrified scream wailed out from inside Keepers Cottage, which he had watched for so long now, and his hunger grew and evolved into something else entirely.

He knew what was coming.

He had felt it before.

And he loved it.

“I can hear you, Jenny!!” He called out, ceasing his hammering fists just long enough to hear her whimper in fear.

An evil smile crept across his face, hidden and disguised by the night.

“COME ON JENNY!!” He bellowed then, his voice deep and rasping and ravenous. “I WANT YOU!!”

With every sound that he made Jen winced visibly, jumping and startling and crying out in horror. Her breaths were quick and sharp and shallow, full of awful fright.

He battered and pounded at the door, rattling it on its hinges as if it were about to burst, and once again Jen shrieked like a howling banshee.

Her desperate cry was followed almost immediately by footsteps on the stairs, and Jen set shaky eyes upon her older sister practically throwing herself down the staircase.

Clare was bleary eyed, as if she’d only just awoken, and clattered down to her sister so fast that she almost fell head over heels.

Forgetting at long last the feud they’d had, she rushed immediately to Jen’s side, desperately trying to calm her screaming.

“Jen!” She cried, but her younger sister could not reply through her sobs.

              “I can’t wait any longer!!” He bellowed from outside. “I NEED YOU!!”

              Jen cowered away and Clare comforted her as best she could, ignoring all that he was saying and focusing instead on her younger sister, in absolute bits before her.

              “YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HER!!”

              That was it.

              In an instant, Clare snapped.

              He had yet again gone too far.

              The sheer, vile abuse that she hurled through the air then, her angry words like sharpened razor blades were enough to curdle the blood. The foul insults that she screeched were not to be trifled with.

              But, they seemed to go unheard, and the man stalking them from outside did not reply.

              In fact, all went silent, as Jen and Clare awaited his response.

But it was an answer that never came.

              He stopped shouting.

              The door finished rattling.

              Jen ceased her screaming.

              In fact, everything seemed to come to a complete standstill, and an eerie quiet settled upon the cottage.

              Deacon glanced around warily, wondering what on Earth would happen next.

              Jen whimpered slightly, overtaken wholly by panic. Deacon wrapped his arms around her again, cradling her as gently and as comfortingly as he could, though he stayed ever vigilant.

              Clare crept through into the darkened kitchen, making not a sound as she moved, silent as a ghost. She peered out of the window, staying as inconspicuous as she could, but after a few moments she recoiled gradually back, looking at her sister and shaking her head slowly.

              Suddenly the sound of shattering glass exploded in their ears from somewhere at the back of the house, and Deacon sprung immediately into action.

              “Wait here!” He instructed, darting through the downstairs rooms in the dim light.

              His footsteps stopped, but before he could relay what he’d found, a large rock came sailing in through the kitchen window. It shattered with terrifying force and fragmented glass was sent flying in every direction.

              Jen screamed again, recoiling back with her mother, both covering their faces.

              Clare didn’t bother.

The glass, like the cold, seemed not to affect her, even as it sprayed all over her.

              Then, in barely a moment, Deacon was back, breathing sharply.

              “Same at the back…” He reported, but then again he was cut short, and a huge bang reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp crash.

              Instantly, Deacon whipped round and flew yet again to the back of the house, but he stopped barely halfway, taking slow, steady steps back towards them, still stood in the entrance hallway, his eyes wide and fearful.

              The back door lay on the floor, its hinges buckled and broken, ruined.

              “He’s…” Deacon started, though, once again, he didn’t get to finish.

              A low, possessed humming echoed through the dark rooms of Keepers Cottage, casting fear into their hearts like nightmares laden with dread.

              “Oh my God…” Jen breathed, and her words shook and quivered awfully, her voice barely a whisper.

              The sound seemed to echo all around, bouncing impossibly in every direction, and none of them had any idea where it was coming from.

              An evil grating noise followed the humming, grinding with deadly intention upon their ears.

              Deacon moved Jen and Dyra slowly to the staircase, trying desperately not to make a sound. But, as is always the way, that was near impossible in the dead of the night.

              Still he had not appeared.

              Pointing urgently up the stairs, Deacon quickly ushered Jen and Dyra to climb.

              However, the first step Jen took, anxious and rushed, creaked loudly and obviously throughout the house, and in an instant he was there.

              “GO!” Deacon bellowed, reaching out into the darkness and grappling with the silhouette of a man, fighting with all his might to keep him away from Jen.

              Dyra forced her youngest daughter up the stairs in front of her, following Deacon’s barked command in nothing but blind panic.

              Behind them Deacon struggled against the man in the shadows, and Clare just stood by watching, helpless, unable to do anything at all.

              The man forced him back against the wall, and in the light of the hallway Deacon laid eyes upon him properly for the first time.

              His black hair was long and greasy and unkempt, falling almost down to his shoulders and partly in front of his eyes. Though he looked thin and weak, his grasp was strong and firm, driven by something more than just mere muscle.

But most prominent of all were his eyes.

              Through his matted black hair his eyes were dark and fierce and crazed, maddened by something that Deacon did not recognise: some senseless emotion that he had never felt.

              A low growl, like that of an animal, emanated from the back of the man’s throat, and he was focused, committed, to whatever it was he was trying to do. Deacon didn’t know exactly what that was, but he knew that it involved Jen, and somehow Clare too, and either way, he didn’t want to find out.

              Driving him away, Deacon exploded forwards and hurled the man back into the living room, practically throwing him over the furniture, sending him smashing into the low, glass topped coffee table.

He hit the floor hard and with a loud grunt, but in barely a moment he was back on his feet, unfazed, and surging towards Deacon yet again.

              He prepared himself, and once more as the man from the shadows tried to fight his way past to get to Jen, Deacon proved to be the stronger of the two.

Three times the man tried to get past, and in turn, three times Deacon repelled him, each time inflicting further injury.

              It was only at that point, nursing bruised and battered limbs, when the man realised that this young fellow, whoever he was, keeping him from Jenny, would not yield.

              The time had come to divert from the plan.

              Usually, that was not preferred.

              And besides, he had been saving this knife especially for Jenny, as seemed only appropriate.

              But, he supposed, sometimes exceptions have to be made, as he drew the long, thick handled blade from beneath his black shirt, brandishing it before Jenny’s protector menacingly.

              Deacon’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the knife, knowing now they were in serious trouble.

              By this point though, things had gone too far, and he had little other choice than to stand and fight; to defend Jen against this madman.

              There was little time to think, for he dove forwards towards Deacon in barely the space of two racing heartbeats, driving his weight behind the lunging blade.

              Jen screamed, trying to throw herself forward, but Dyra forced her back, seeing that it was already too late.

              Clare looked on with tears standing heavily in her eyes.

              The blade plummeted towards Deacon’s chest, and triumph surged through the evil man’s veins, tasting success, knowing that Jen would soon follow.

              But Deacon was too quick for it to be that easy.

He had suffered the knife before, and knew its workings.

At the very last second, inches from death, he darted swiftly to one side, avoiding the blade by less than an inch.

              Grabbing the man’s wrist and arm, Deacon wrenched his hand under and practically jumped on the back of his shoulder, driving the man down into the floor face first, and very hard. The sheer impact caused the knife to loose from his grasp, and it scattered across the floor nervously.

              His head was driven so hard into the floor that the man fell silent almost immediately, and his body went limp and weak.

              Nonetheless, Deacon took no chances, having barely escaped with his life, and kicked the knife away into the depths of the kitchen.

Pressing constantly with his whole bodyweight, he kept pressure upon his attacker, not once releasing his wrist and arm, pinning him forcefully to the ground.

              “Deacon…” Jen breathed, stepping slowly down towards him, relief flushing through her body.

              “No!” Deacon instructed, and Jen froze, though his voice was not harsh. “Stay there.” He told her. “Just in case…”

              Clare hadn’t moved during the whole thing, and she glanced up at Jen guiltily.

              However, Jen didn’t say or do anything in response, and suddenly, startling them all terribly, another loud knock at the door sounded.

              None of them moved at first, their eyes transfixed on the sound.

              But within a few moments, hearing a noise again coming from the back of the house, a concerned voice echoed through the darkness.

              “Hello!?” It called. “Is everyone okay!?”

              “We’re in here!” Deacon shouted back, and within seconds two police officers came racing in.

              “We saw the windows…” The first replied immediately, taking in the whole situation in much the way as Deacon always did, sweeping his eyes over everything at once. “And we saw the back door…” He continued, focusing in on Deacon holding the man to the floor, and the knife in the corner of the kitchen.

              His hand went instinctively to his baton, though he didn’t rack it, and only looked on for a moment, seeming to understand that Deacon wasn’t the threat here.

              A silent understanding passed between them and, all at once, it seemed that everything would be alright again.

              Well, almost everything…

Decisions

             
What followed was a whirlwind of officers arriving and departing. Deacon, Jen and Dyra were whisked through into another room, while the unconscious man from the shadows was taken away and out of sight.

              His awareness returned to him however, part way through the process of being removed, and he proceeded promptly to scream and shout once more after Jen, writhing and squirming beneath the heavy hands of the police.

His apparent insanity hastened his removal, and after barely a few minutes of the police arriving, though most certainly not soon enough, Deacon, Jen and Dyra were left alone in the living room with the remaining officers.

As the man shrieked and bawled, struggling desperately as the officers practically dragged him away, Clare couldn’t help but watch closely, a look in her eyes totally unreadable.

“Jen…” Officer Mahoney started, sat opposite her in the living room. His huge, thick body seemed to perch on one settee, across from the young girl who looked so afraid, though his voice was gentle and understanding.

She looked up at him through fearful, confused eyes.

He smiled comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.” He assured her. “We’ve got him.”

Jen only nodded, unable to speak.

The officer looked to Dyra and Deacon then. Dyra smiled, and Deacon could tell she knew Mahoney quite well.

He held out his hand.

“Deacon Ash.” He introduced himself, shaking Mahoney’s hand firmly. “I’m Jen’s partner.”

“Jim Mahoney.” The officer replied, though a fleeting thought seemed to cross his face. “Pleasure.”

“Can I assist at all…?” Deacon posed.

“Don’t worry.” Mahoney assured him. “We’ve been after this one for quite some time…”

He sounded as if he was going to say more, but a quick warning look from Dyra quieted him, and he changed tact slightly.

“Deacon Ash?” He questioned then. “As in the artist?”

“Yes…” Deacon replied.

“Blimey!” He exclaimed. “My wife loves your work!”

“Thank you.” Deacon laughed nervously, but the compliment did little to lighten the mood, and fresh tension hung heavily in the air.

Mahoney beckoned Dyra with a slight motion of his eyes, and she slipped in front of Deacon almost even guiltily, for she knew he was desperate to know what they were keeping from him.

Suddenly, darting through with panicked but professional haste, Mandy appeared in the doorway to the living room. Her jet black hair that was usually tied in a ponytail hung loosely about her shoulders and flicked in the air as she came practically flying around the corner.

In barely a moment her dark eyes took in the whole scene before her.

It seemed to be an ability that everyone but Jen possessed.

Mandy saw Dyra with Mahoney. She saw Jen sat alone on the settee, head in her hands, body trembling. And she saw a handsome young man, whom she had never before met, looking very confused and torn between Jen and Dyra.

Nudging her glasses more securely back onto her nose, Mandy straightened herself and smoothed her black pencil skirt. Clutching her black portfolio case to her chest, she approached Jen slowly.

But the handsome young man held out his hand openly.

“Can I help?” He asked her, and his voice was hardy and velvety all at once.

“My name is Mandy.” She introduced herself, holding out her hand professionally.

“Deacon. Jen’s partner.” The young man replied, taking her hand firmly and gently all at once. “Family friend?” He asked then, glancing for a second down at Jen.

She seemed not to have heard Mandy enter.

“Not exactly…” Mandy replied carefully, letting go of Deacon’s hand slowly. He looked confused and waited for an explanation.

“I’m a cognitive psychiatrist.” Mandy started to explain. “I specialise in trauma.”

“Trauma?” Deacon questioned, for her explanation had not really shed any light at all, and suddenly Mandy understood why.

“I see…” She replied tentatively, looking very concerned as she did so, glancing down at Jen. “I think I need to speak to Jen.”

“She’s…” Deacon began, knowing that Jen likely was too fragile at the moment, but Mandy cut him off firmly.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.” She stated. “I thought things were improving.”

“Improving?” Deacon questioned.

Mandy only shook her head.

“But now I think I was wrong.”

And before Deacon could utter another breath, Mandy sat herself down beside Jen. When she saw who it was, looking up briefly, Jen’s eyes widened and she glanced up to Deacon guiltily.

But he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he left them to it, knowing that either way Mandy would not let him interfere.

He was very confused.

He had no idea what was going on.

In fact, he even felt a little betrayed, for though he had sensed there were things Jen and Dyra were keeping from him, he had never imagined they would lead to something like this.

Deacon stepped back out into the hallway and opened the thick, wooden front door to Keepers Cottage, passing through in an instant and once again out into the cold air of the night.

Glancing for a second through the lighted living room window, he could see Dyra talking hurriedly with Mahoney, and Jen shaking as she responded to Mandy’s many questions.

By the very word Mandy looked to be growing increasingly worried, and after barely a few moments, Deacon couldn’t bear to watch any longer.

His eyes found their way up to the sky, stretching out cold and black and endless above him with a million and more questions still unanswered.

That was exactly how he felt at that moment.

He sighed deeply, and his breath steamed out in warm, white billows above him.

This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

But the trouble was, he had fallen for Jen.

There was no question about that.

He couldn’t just walk away now.

“Deacon…” A quiet, timid voice sounded from behind him then.

He turned to look, only to find Jen illuminated in the light of the doorway, yearning after him with heavy eyes, and an infinitely heavier heart.

“Jen…” He replied, not knowing what else to say. His voice was hushed to barely a whisper, but it carried through the darkness like an albatross soaring endlessly over the ocean.

“They…I…” She started, struggling with exactly what she wanted to say.

Deacon didn’t interrupt.

The time for that was passed.

“I have to…” Jen tried again. “I’m sorry…I have to tell you the truth…” She finally managed.

Though she was trying not to be seen, her efforts were relatively futile, and Deacon could clearly see Mandy glancing worriedly out of the window.

She had tried to make Jen see sense, or at least see reality.

This had gone on long enough.

“Okay…” Deacon replied, still unsure what else he could really say.

“The police want to talk to me…” Jen continued. “Please, will you come with me?”

All of a sudden, Deacon understood what Jen was trying to say.

She was admitting there were things she hadn’t told him.

She was asking if he would stay with her if she told him the truth.

She was asking for forgiveness.

Whatever it was, Deacon considered, that Jen had been hiding, he could tell she had been keeping it locked up inside for a long time now. He knew what she was trying to do was very hard for her.

“Of course I will…” He replied, his voice calm and collected as ever.

He had already made his decision, even before she’d asked him the question.

Nonetheless, the relief that surged through Jen in that moment was overwhelmingly obvious.

Following Jen back in, taking her hand as he did so, and interlocking his fingers smoothly with hers, Deacon pulled the door quietly to behind him, keeping what was left of the heat inside.

“Jen…” Officer Mahoney said then, stepping through from the kitchen and walking over to her and Deacon. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m okay.” Jen replied, actually quite assuredly. For one of the first times in almost as long as she could remember, she spoke those words with some semblance of truth.

And actually, Deacon noted, surprisingly, she did look a lot better.

“Good.” Mahoney replied gladly. “I’ve spoken to your mother about what’s happened.” He explained, and Jen nodded. “I will need your two’s accounts…” He went on, and Jen and Deacon both nodded again in agreement.

“That’s fine.” Jen confirmed.

“We won’t do it all now.” Mahoney assured them. “We have a pretty good idea already. There’s just one thing I need for now…” He pressed, though quite gently, glancing briefly at Deacon as he spoke.

Both of them caught on to his meaning, but this time Jen was quick to intervene.

“That’s fine.” She asserted, reaching up with her free hand to clutch Deacon’s arm, signifying with that single gesture much more than she could have done with all her words.

“Okay…” Mahoney agreed, though admittedly a little warily. “Was it definitely him?” He asked Jen, looking her dead in the eyes as he spoke.

“Yes.” She replied in an instant.

“You’re sure?” He asked, but Jen did not budge.

“Definitely.” She confirmed. “I’m sure.”

“Very well then…” Mahoney concluded, making a quick note in a small, black notebook. “Thank you. In that case, I’ll leave you two to it…” His voice trailed off slightly, but his eyes betrayed the fact that clearly he was not envious of what Jen now had to do.

He smiled somewhat half-heartedly and bade them goodnight.

Deacon, however, following that final remark, was much more nervous than he had been before.

When Jen turned to him and beckoned him to follow her upstairs, he swallowed hard as they slowly ascended the rickety staircase, up and into yet more darkness.