Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (19 page)

"You've got a bath in your room?" asked Adam, raising his eyebrows. "I've just got a shower."

Mark left Adam to his Swedish friends. Climbing up the stairs, he was convinced he could see green eyes staring up at him.

Half an hour later, Mark lay on the bed, the door locked and the curtains drawn, having showered and dried himself, utterly exhausted. The whisky hadn't touched the sides and he felt resolutely sober, though wasn't about to test it by driving a car.

He had definitely made his mind up - he was heading back to Edinburgh at lunchtime the following day. No more maybes.

He picked up his mobile from the dressing table and was relieved to see two bars of reception. He almost cried when he heard Sarah's voice, regardless of the fact that she was shouting at him for not calling for days.

"I'm sorry," said Mark. "It's been absolutely manic. Look, I've decided that I've had enough here, and I'm coming home. I'm fed up with being away from you and Beth."

That stopped Sarah in her tracks. "What train will you be on?" she asked, after a pause.

"It's about one o'clock from Kinbrace," said Mark, "and I'll get into Edinburgh at the back of ten, I think."

"That's quite late," said Sarah.

"In twenty-four hours we'll be back together," said Mark.

"You'll be able to do your fair share with your daughter, you mean," said Sarah.

"Whatever," said Mark. "The thing is, I'll be able to put this stuff behind me."

"What
stuff
?" asked Sarah. "Have you been drinking again?"

"Just a bit," said Mark.
 

"How much is a bit?" asked Sarah.

Mark sighed. "I'll give you the full story when I see you," he said.

"Fine," said Sarah. "Give me a call when you're on the train."

"Will do," said Mark. "I love you."

"I love you, too," said Sarah.

Mark ended the call and put the phone down. He walked over to the window and looked out, unsurprised to see the green eyes staring up, joined tonight by another two pairs.

He picked up the Esoterica card from the desk and flipped it over in his hands. He couldn't remember how long his stopover in Inverness was, but he decided to visit. The stuff he'd seen was driving him crazy. He felt the loose edges of another panic attack coming on.

He couldn't work out what was going on and that bothered him the most. The dog. The wind. The loneliness. Being away from Sarah wasn't helping him. He missed her - despite their recent difficulties, he still loved her, he still didn't regret the ring on his finger, the daughter in Edinburgh.

The thing that bugged him most was his dominant left brain being unable to pattern match and compartmentalise what had happened. Even though he was writing populist tartan shortbread-tin histories, he was an academic, trained at one of the best universities in Britain. But his right brain was going to town. Dogs that could control the wind. Rattling windows. Voices on the wind that asked to be let it in the room. Devil worshippers. His missing researcher disappearing.

He picked up the paperback and started reading, desperate to take his mind off it.

Mark stared out of the window. Nine pairs of eyes looked up at him.

He was awakened by the wind at one in the morning and now he was wondering again if the number of dogs influenced its strength.

He held the Esoterica card in his hand, flipping it over and over again. It had folded at the edges, the white paper turning fluffy.

He made his mind up - the animals were werewolves. Tomorrow, he would confront them.
 

His phone had a single bar of 3G reception and he searched it for werewolves as he stood there, keeping one eye on the creatures. There was too much fiction in there, curses and stuff like that. He needed something real and tangible and struggled to find it.

He was believing it, though.

One of the dogs must be ZZ Top, trying to ensnare him into their cult. He counted them - nine pairs of eyes. He'd seen nine of them in the tea room the other day, he was sure of it.

They seemed to control the weather. Other than the encounter when it had been raining - and that could have been them - every time he'd encountered the dog and its accomplices, it had been ferociously windy. At the window, when he confronted it, the chase back from Kinbrace, and earlier that evening when he was saved by John Rennie.

He didn't want to think that shape-shifting was possible, but he had the evidence in front of him. The animals were obviously intelligent and had evaded him several times. Was it a higher intelligence?

What he didn't get, was why him? Why not Adam? They'd both confronted the devil worshippers at their compound and Adam had been the most aggressive.

Mark picked up the phone and called to reception again - a grumpy-sounding Harris told him John had still not turned up. That was the fifth time he'd made Harris check the bar.

Was it his digging into history that was behind it?

He'd spoken to a lot of people in the village and surrounding area, asking some difficult questions. And that was when they were prepared to speak to him - most just avoided him, especially when they found out what he was doing. Unearthing a history of devil worship would bring attention to the area.

He'd been to the ruined Catholic church twice. He now wondered if it had been destroyed by the devil worshippers.

He was aware that he was paranoid.

He missed Sarah and Beth. He needed Edinburgh and its crime and pollution and social divide. He needed reality, not devil worshippers that could change shape at a whim.

He needed sleep.

He needed home.
 

"Well, if you insist," said Harris.

"I appreciate it," said Mark.

Harris looked over at his assistant. "Agnieska, can you hold the fort for a few minutes, please?" he asked.

She nodded.

Harris led Mark out of the back of the hotel, through the dining room, to the car park. Mark felt his vision blur as he stepped out onto the patio at the back, the incident with the dog hitting him.

"So, how come your bike ended up out by Ruthven Castle?" asked Harris.

Mark closed his eyes briefly. "I was out for a cycle last night," he said. "I got a puncture."

"You went out for a cycle in the rain," said Harris. "I believe you." He opened the door of a silver saloon car, the emblem of Ruthven Arms Hotel emblazoned on the side. "Nothing to do with dining with its resident?"

Mark got in and buckled himself in. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

"I've warned you before," said Harris. "She's a predator."

"I'm not her prey," said Mark, unsure whether he actually was or not.

Harris turned the ignition and Pearl Jam burst out of the speakers, not what Mark had expected. Harris adjusted the volume then drove off. "Just bear it in mind," he said, "that's all I ask."

Mark was keen to change the subject. "Just out of interest," he said, "have any of your other guests mentioned a woman in the garden?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Harris. "I have had a couple of comments regarding the dog you mentioned the other day but nothing about a woman. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," said Mark.

Harris drove them down a small lane running down the back of the houses, the car rocking as it navigated potholes. As they reached the main road, Mark had a view of the lochs, shimmering in the early morning light. The sun was above the hills at the far side - Mark wondered if they were the Cairngorms but decided they were too far south. They closed on the place where he had last seen John, and he spotted his bike lying in the undergrowth. "Just there," he said.

"
Very
close to Ruthven Castle," said Harris.

Mark scratched his neck. "Has John Rennie turned up yet?" he asked.

"For the sixth time, no," said Harris.

"Where's the nearest police station?" asked Mark

"Brora would be my guess," said Harris. "There is a mobile police van in Kinbrace in the late morning, I think."

Mark nodded, trying to decide if he should report John's disappearance. "I'm going to have a look around for a bit," he said, "so, if you could just wait?"

Harris sighed then turned up the music.

Mark strolled over to his bike and picked it up, what seemed like litres of water splashed off. He pulled the stand out and rested it, letting the bike dry.

He looked around and retraced the steps, trying to recall where John had been. He found a tranquilliser dart lying in a muddy puddle. There were some footprints leading away from it, but Mark soon lost them in the quagmire.

"Where are you, John?"
 

He got a sudden flashback to a forgotten nightmare, the ghillie being pulled apart by wild dogs and dumped in a shallow grave by the side of the road.

He looked around again - it needed someone better than him to find John Rennie.

An hour later, Mark was in front of the hotel, fixing his front tyre. He'd managed to get the inner tube mended, just needing to get the thing on - which was never easy - and then pump the tyre up. He was determined to get the train back to Edinburgh at one.

As he filled the tyre, he watched a lorry cause chaos on the high street - probably a delivery for the hotel.

He'd cycle to Kinbrace and report John's disappearance at the mobile crime van. Knowing he'd struggle with his laptop case and rucksack, he decided to ask for a lift from Adam or Harris, but didn't want to be too in hock to either.

He felt like his day had some semblance of structure to it, even though it hadn't involved any writing so far - over seven hours on the train would take a big dent out of the twenty thousand words he reckoned that he still needed.

"Got some action last night," said Adam, appearing from inside the hotel. He was rubbing his crotch. "One of my wee Swedish beauties. The dark-haired one."

"Oh," was all Mark could think to say.

Adam came over and punched him on the arm. "Come on, man," he said. "At least show a bit of enthusiasm."

"Are you seeing her again?" asked Mark.

"Don't you get all high and mighty on me," said Adam. "You and your bird up at the castle. No doubt you'll be playing hide the sausage with her after the ceilidh tonight."

Mark looked away. "I'm not going to the ceilidh," he said.

"Yes, you are," said Adam.

"I've got to get back to Edinburgh," said Mark, pumping at the tyre again. "I'm done here."

"Are you?" asked Adam. "Finished your book, have you?"

Mark grimaced. "I've finished all of the research that I need to do," he said. "I just need to write the thing, now."

"Did your bird up at the castle knock you back?" asked Adam, grinning. Mark hated him even more.

"There's nothing
to
knock back," said Mark, as he detached the pump from the wheel. He gave the tyre a good squeeze - it would do.

"So, are you really going home?" asked Adam.

"Of course," said Mark.

Adam looked disappointed. "I've managed to get a couple of deals to take photos tonight," he said. "Couple of regional Highland papers plus the
Scotsman
. Not bad, eh?"

"Not bad," said Mark, hoisting his bike up off the pavement. "You heading back to Glasgow at any point?"

Adam put his hands in his pockets. "Not for another week or so" he said. "Didn't know it would be this good for photography up here. That church still sends a shiver down my spine."

"Not as much as it does mine," said Mark.

Adam laughed. "Still full of that supernatural mumbo jumbo?" he asked.

Mark sighed. "Look," he said. "I think I've seen things."

Adam laughed again. "
Seen
things?" he asked. "What sort of things?"

"Werewolves," said Mark, his voice small.

Adam screwed up his face. "Werewolves?" he asked. "Are you having me on?"

"I'm deadly serious," said Mark. "You've seen that big dog. It's like something out of
The Howling
. There's a group of them. All I can think is it's that religious group on the other side of Ruthven Castle."

Adam was almost in tears of laughter. "What makes you think those religious nuts are werewolves?" he asked.

Mark shrugged. "It sort of makes sense," he said. "The dog. The devil worshippers." He shrugged again. "That's all."

Adam shook his head at him. "That's a pretty funny story," he said. "Maybe you should write fiction instead."

"Yeah, well," said Mark. "Truth is stranger and all that." He swallowed. "Besides, I think I saw Kay the other night."

Adam laughed. "You need to tell me where you're getting the mushrooms from, man," he said. "Hallucinogens are all well and good but I don't think you should be taking them, matey."

Just then, a couple of locals walked down the street, eyeing them suspiciously. They were both male and in their forties. Mark rested his bike against the wall of the hotel and approached them. "Do either of you know John Rennie?" he asked.

They stopped and exchanged a confused look. The taller of the two nodded. "Aye, I know him, aye," he said. "Why, who are you?"

Mark gave the briefest overview he could - he'd certainly had enough practise over the last week. "Have you seen him today?" he asked.

"No," said the man.

"Do you know where I can find him?" asked Mark.

The man laughed. "You sound like you're trying to get some drugs off the felly, or he owes you money," he said. The other one joined in. "He works over at William Sellar's. Might be worth asking him if he's seen him?"

"Do you know anything about devil-worshipping werewolves?" asked Adam.

The pair of them laughed. "Good luck finding John," said the talker. "Hope he's got enough hash for you." They walked off, laughing at Mark and Adam.

"Why did you ask that?" asked Mark.

Adam shrugged. "You need to face facts, Marky," he said. "You're cracking up here. It'll be lesbian vampires next or something."

Mark sighed. "It's possible that I am cracking up," he said. He took a long, deep breath and thought through his options - he had a couple of hours before the police van arrived in Kinbrace. He could head out to see William Sellar and find out if John had turned up.