Ravens Gathering (19 page)

Sleep was the last thing on Martin’s mind.  He wanted
it.  His body would have welcomed it.  But his mind was elsewhere.

A myriad of thoughts tumbled around his head.  The
reason for coming back to the village fluttered in and out as he pondered over
what he should do.  When he’d left Gran
Canaria
,
he didn’t have a clear plan, but he did know what he wanted to achieve. 
More sleepless nights hadn’t been on the list.

He didn’t try to sleep.  There was no point.  He
knew from years of experience that the harder he tried, the harder it was to
drop off.  The best he could hope for was some rest.  So he allowed
his body to gradually relax, starting at his extremities, methodically easing
the tension out.  To a point, anyway.  It was impossible to let it
all go.  When certain images flashed across his mind; when the memory of
sensations scampered over his flesh; when the voices played back in his head,
then the tension crept up on him.  Unnoticed at first, until he’d realise
that his fists were clenched, or he was grinding his teeth.  The process
would begin again.  Fingertips and toes to start, followed by his hands
and wrists, his feet and ankles.  Slowly letting his body relax once more.

It was a cycle he would repeat all night.  He knew that
in advance.  At some point, he might sleep, probably for only minutes at a
time.  If he was lucky, it might stretch out to half an hour.  That
had been his past experience.  Somehow, he doubted he would be fortunate
enough to achieve that tonight.  Nightmares had kept him awake
before.  Memories of a distant past.  Or so it had seemed. 
Those had been sufficient to leave him troubled, spending his nights staring
into the darkness and wondering about how things had gone so badly wrong.

This was different.  The distant past didn’t seem so
far away.  Perhaps he had confused distance in miles with the passage of
time.

With his return to Ravens Gathering, he’d hoped to lay some
ghosts to rest.  It seemed that there were more phantoms than he’d
imagined.  Maybe even poltergeists.  Certainly his encounter with
Adam Hawthorn had left him battered and bruised.

Moonlight filtered through the edges of the curtains. 
Shadows stirred across the bedroom wall.  He knew it would be possible to
see all kinds of shapes among them.  There was no point in trying
to.  Not unless he planned to get no rest at all.  He closed his
eyes.

Sometimes that was worse.  At least the things you
could see were a distraction from your thoughts.  They didn’t take your
mind off things altogether, but they could blur the edges.  He tried to
focus on his fingers and toes again.  It worked for a while.  Then he
knew he had to open his eyes.  Another cycle.  Another technique he’d
developed over the years.

There were times when he got up.  Whenever he rented a
new room or apartment, he tried to get one with a table.  That hadn’t
always been the case.  But he’d realised that, when sleep was impossible,
it often helped if he could write down all the things that were going through
his head.  As if, by putting those things on paper, he was physically
extracting them from his mind and laying them out.  It was like taking an
engine apart when it wasn’t working.  With all the component parts laid
out on the ground, you could see them all clearly.  You could find the
part – or parts – that were causing the problem, fix them, and then put them
all back together again.  But he’d found that sitting on the edge of his
bed, hunched up over a notebook didn’t help that process.  A table or a
desk was better.

On many occasions, he had spent an hour, or more often two,
writing frantically, pouring his thoughts, his troubles, his fears out on to
paper.  Then he’d crawl back into bed and sleep like a baby.  He knew
instinctively that no amount of writing would help him tonight.

At night, with no distractions, minor concerns could become
major problems.  And putting those problems into black and white could
provide perspective.  Right now, he knew he already had perspective. 
Minor concerns and major problems would be welcome right now.

So he turned to the question that kept surfacing. 
Should he leave?

He’d expected trouble.  Hell, he’d planned on it. 
But he hadn’t expected it to take this form.  And he hadn’t anticipated
the direction from which it would come. 

It was clear that his family didn’t want him back.  Not
that he’d intended to return for good.  But they obviously wanted him out
of their lives as rapidly as possible.  A few hours ago, he’d been ready
to press them for answers, wanted to know why.  Now he wasn’t so sure he
did.  It wasn’t worth all this aggravation.  Police, accusations,
threats against him.  And more.

Oh, yes.  Much more. 

But he didn’t want to dwell on that.  If he left in the
morning, he wouldn’t have to.

The luminous dial of the alarm clock told him it was after
two.  Nearly five hours before sunrise, at least six before the first bus
left the village.  He could be in Westfield by nine.  On a train by
half past.  Out of the county before ten.  He hadn’t planned his
departure, but he was still pretty confident he could be out of the country by
mid-afternoon.  If he hired a car rather than relying on public transport,
he might even be flying by midday.  It wouldn’t be a cheap exit strategy,
but money wasn’t his main motivation right now.

So he could move quickly.  He just couldn’t start
moving yet.

And yet...  There was part of him that didn’t want to
run.  Demons were there to be faced.  Perhaps he should do just
that.  Because one day he might have to do it anyway.  Running away
from them would only defer it.

He let out a long breath, surprisingly noisy in the still of
the night.  Focus on the extremities, he told himself, conscious of the
tension rising inside him again.

Then he heard another noise.  Louder than his
breathing.  It was coming from outside.

At first he tried to ignore it.  Kidding himself, he
reflected later.  Pretending it wasn’t there, that it had nothing to do
with him.  It was only when he became aware of the tremor in his hands
that he knew he had to make a decision.

It was an engine.  Diesel by the sound of it. 
Distant, but getting closer.  It wasn’t noisy.  If he’d been asleep,
it wouldn’t have disturbed him. 

Twenty to three, the clock told him.  Since coming to
bed, he’d been wanting to get up.  Now, when he knew he really had to, his
only inclination was to stay exactly where he was.

The engine was moving away now.  Still close, but it
had passed the house.  Steeling himself, he pushed the duvet back. 
It took a few seconds before he could bring himself to sit up.  A few more
until his feet touched the floor.  But then momentum took over. 
Jeans, sweatshirt and trainers were quickly pulled on, then he was out into the
hallway.

It might have been because he’d moved out of the bedroom,
but he couldn’t hear the engine any more.  He hurried.  He’d been
afraid to act, but now he was up he didn’t want it to be in vain.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was in
darkness.  He paused long enough to recall where the table and chairs
were.  It would have been better to allow his eyes to adjust, but he
didn’t have enough time.  He headed for the door, guessing where the
furniture was, and giving it a wide berth.  The key was in the lock. 
He turned it, grimacing as the inner workings of the locking mechanism ground
together.  It was unlikely that it would be heard by whoever was
responsible for the engine, but he didn’t want to disturb anyone else in the
house.

During the day, with all of the other background noise, the
sound of a door knob turning would go unnoticed.  In the dead of night, it
was a different matter.  Martin winced as it squealed under his
hand.  As he pulled the door inwards, he glanced over his shoulder. 
He was looking for any sign that he may have been heard – the dim glow of light
from upstairs, perhaps.  Instead, he found the silhouette of a man only a
couple of feet behind him.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Martin had been bracing himself, expecting the shadowy
figure to lash out at him, or grab him by the throat.  Somehow, he
couldn’t imagine Ian doing that.  Recognising his voice, he felt the
increased tension ease a little.  Faint movement caught his eye and he
reached out to catch Ian’s arm.

“Don’t!”

“Why the hell not?  What are you hiding?”

“Us.  From whoever’s outside.”

Something in his tone must have struck a chord with Ian,
because he relaxed his arm, let it fall away from the light switch he had been
stretching for.

“What are you doing up?” Martin asked.

“I thought I heard something, so I came down to
investigate.”

Someone else who had been having trouble sleeping then.

“So what’s going on?” Ian continued.

“I don’t know for sure.  I heard an engine
outside.”  He hesitated for a moment, unsure how much he should tell
Ian.  Time was against him, though, so he made a decision.  “After
what happened today, I wondered if it might be the van coming back.”  It
was a plausible enough answer, he reckoned.

“What were you going to do?”

“Go out and have a look.  If it is the van, we can call
the police.”

“I’ll come with you.”  He said it without missing a
beat.  “Let me just grab some boots and a coat.”

“I’m not sure we’ve got time for that...”  But Ian was
already half way across the kitchen, heading for the annexe.

In a way, he was relieved about the delay.  It might
mean they were too late, which could be a good thing.  After all, with Ian
being involved now, there was an additional risk to going out and confronting
the driver of the vehicle.

But the delay was brief.  Less than half a minute
later, Ian was back with him, a Barbour jacket and wellington boots on. 
The prolonged time spent in the kitchen had given Martin’s eyes time to adjust,
and he could make out more.  He could even see that Ian was still wearing
pyjamas under his coat.  Not ideal clothing if they met up with any
resistance.

They opened the door carefully, keeping the noise to a
minimum.  The rubber soles of the trainers and wellies barely made any
sound as they crossed the yard.

The engine had either stopped before they came outside, or
it had moved on to another place.  If he hadn’t already heard it, he might
have doubted himself.  At night, it’s possible for sounds to appear to
come from directions other than where they have actually originated.  So
he did wonder if perhaps the engine noise had carried from the main road. 
Maybe it was just his imagination working overtime.

As they headed towards the gate, Martin thought he caught a
glimpse of something moving on the track that ran past the entrance to the
yard.  It was close to the hedge that ran along the opposite side, so it
was very indistinct – it might even have just been part of the greenery swaying
under the night breeze.  The low clouds overhead didn’t help, cutting the
moonlight to a minimum.  Ian didn’t comment on it, which made Martin think
he was probably imagining things.

When they reached the gate, they leaned over the top of it,
looking up and down the track for any signs of activity.  None were
apparent.

Leaning in close to Ian, Martin said: “Let’s go.”

They opened the gate as quietly as they could, then made
their way carefully up the track.  If there was someone up at the barn, it
was possible they could come back this way, so Martin pulled them to the side
nearest the hedge.  It offered more shelter and shadow, and would be
easier to hide against than the brick wall on the other side.

Well, that was the plan.  Until a gap in the clouds
passed under the moon, illuminating the whole track and leaving nowhere to
hide.  Instinctively – though on reflection rather stupidly – they pressed
themselves further back against the hedge.  Thorns caught on their
clothes, snagging the fabric.  Fortunately, none penetrated the skin.

Feeling like a prisoner caught in a searchlight as he made a
break for it, Martin turned his head from side to side.  Perhaps similarly
to the prisoner, he was looking to see if anyone had spotted him.  What he
saw instead was the backs of two men.  They were next to each other, and
walking down the track, away from the farm.  Because of the angle of the
track, he could only see them from the waist up.  And almost immediately,
even that view was diminished, as they gradually descended.

He looked at Ian.  Unlike Martin, he hadn’t reacted as
if he was afraid of being caught.  He was taking the opportunity to look
in the direction they were going, and then at the track in front of them. 
Martin hesitated, wondering whether to tell Ian or not.  He glanced back,
but the figures had already disappeared.  The decision was made for him.

“Look!”  It was Ian, voice low.

Martin followed the direction of his finger.  Although
it had been sunny here since he’d arrived, he had noticed signs of recent
rainfall.  The more sheltered paths and tracks still had puddles and pools
of dirty water, especially those that were filled with ruts and holes.  A
few yards ahead of them, just beyond one of those puddles, there was a clear
imprint of a fresh tyre track.  Not that Martin needed any further
evidence.  He nodded at Ian.

“We’d better get this over and done with.”  He knew his
words and tone must have seemed odd, even without the puzzled look Ian gave
him.

Safe in the knowledge that there would be no one waiting for
them now, he moved out into the centre of the track and started walking. 
Ian followed.  The walk to the outbuildings took less than a minute.

“Which one is it?” Martin asked.

Ian pointed to the two large doors.

“I’ll let you open it,” Martin told him.

“Thanks.”  There was more than a touch of irony, but
Martin ignored it.  He knew they were both safe for now.  Whoever
opened the door would be in no more danger than the other.  It was just
more practical for Ian to do it.  He knew what he was doing.

Hesitantly, Ian pulled on the door.  As before, it
opened easily.  He tried to peer in through a narrow gap, but Martin knew
there wouldn’t be enough light.  He grabbed the edge of the door and
pulled it open as wide as it would go.

“Is that the one?” he asked.

Nodding in response, Ian was looking around the rest of the
barn, searching for the person who had brought the Sherpa and left it there.