The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) (4 page)

“No, I want to go to my cottage,” she said when he started to steer her in the direction of his mother’s cottage.

“
Alright, whatever you want.”

Freya opened the front door and decided to invite Craig in, he deserved a coffee after how he
’d helped her. After removing their outdoor clothing he followed her through to the kitchen.

“
Coffee?”

Before he could reply his mobile phone rang and he pulled it out of his jeans pocket.
“Sorry I’ve got to take this, it’s work.”

“
Okay.”

He wandered into the sitting room to talk and she prayed he didn
’t get called away, she was enjoying having him around again. It was amazing really because usually she was terrified of police.

When he came back in looking apologetic her heart sank.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go into work early, someone’s called in sick. On the bright side I’ll get to finish earlier so I won’t be on the nightshift.”

“
I remember how you like your sleep,” she smiled.

“
I still do. Will you be alright?”

“
Fine. To be honest I’m exhausted, I’ll probably have a nap anyway.”

“
I’m jealous,” he grinned.

“
Thanks for today Craig, I’m not sure how I would have got through it without you.”

“
That’s what friends are for. This must be so hard for you.”

“
I never thought it would be otherwise.”

“
I want you to know that my dad tried but there was no evidence against Logan, except…”

“
My statement, yeah I know,” she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache building. “So he got away with it and - unlike his victims - he died of natural causes.”

“
I’m sorry Freya. If it had happened today forensics would have been more advanced, there might have been something to link him to it.”

“
What if’s
are pointless Craig. It happened and I have to deal with it.”

“
Only you’re not dealing with it, are you?”

Rather than reply she just looked at the ground, too ashamed to tell him how bad her life was.

“If you need me I’m only a few doors down. You can call anytime.”

“
Thanks.”

“
Sorry but I’ve really got to go. Is it okay if I pop in after my shift to check on you?”

“
I’d like that.”

He was pleased and cursed the fact he had to go to work. The prospect of being curled up in this cosy cottage with Freya was an appealing one.
“Right, I’ll see you later then.”

“
Bye,” she said, wishing he’d stay.

CHAPTER 3

Freya jumped awake drenched in sweat and fighting for breath. She’d dreamt she was trapped in a deep hole in the ground, a figure in black frantically throwing earth in on top of her, robes billowing out around it and eyes like fire. She’d call out to Craig for help but the dirt landed in her mouth, choking her. Something hard and cold had grasped her hand and when she’d looked to her right she’d seen a skeleton lying beside her, jaw open in a silent scream, long golden hair sprouting from its head.

Slowly she sat up, reaching out for the glass of water on her bedside cabinet with a shaking hand. It was almost pitch black outside and, glancing at her clock, she was surprised to realise it was nine o
’clock in the morning.

The storm had arrived.

Panic seized her and she threw on her clothes and frantically started packing. Now the moment had come she found she was unable to stay with no way out. She couldn’t do this without an escape route.

After stuffing everything into her backpack she hauled it downstairs, pulled on her coat and boots then hesitated. If she left now then nothing would have changed, she hadn
’t even begun to confront the past. Visiting her parent’s graves had eased some of the guilt about not visiting before, but the fear was still there, as well as the need to drink to obliterate everything.

She sank onto the sofa and called Davey, her AA counsellor. He was the one who
’d convinced her to come here, so hopefully he could convince her to stay. Just the sound of his calm deep bass voice reassured her. She could picture him with his big beard and beefy arms covered in prison tattoos. A typical middle aged, slightly overweight hairy biker, but Freya had a thing for tattoos and found him as sexy as hell. She couldn’t help it, just the sight of ink on a strong male body drove her crazy but that was something she’d been careful to keep to herself.

A five minute conversation with Davey was enough to persuade her to stay. If she left now there was a good chance she
’d never come back and the rest of her life would be plagued by demons.

“
Thanks Davey,” she said before hanging up, wishing he was here for moral support but she had to do this alone.

Leaving her backpack lying on the sitting room floor she stepped outside and shivered. The sky was dark with storm clouds, the wind howling through the centre of the village, the formation of the buildings and surrounding hills creating a wind tunnel. The seawater hit the manmade barrier that protected the houses, launching the spray into the air which hit the ground, forming large puddles. Soon those puddles would be a lake engulfing the road and they would be trapped.

Freya looked at the pub and sighed, kicking at a pebble with a booted foot. She felt edgy, twitchy, as though she could snap at any moment and every time she’d snapped in the past it had ended in violence. When she felt trapped she lashed out. It was a purely defensive reaction, she never meant to hurt anyone but unfortunately over the years she’d got quite good at fighting, she’d certainly had enough practice. When they were stuck together like this everyone in the village got antsy and arguments broke out. Not a good environment for someone quick to hit out. But Davey had said this was a test for her in more ways than one, including her aggression. He believed in her but she didn’t share his faith. The idea of letting him down was a painful one.

Next on her list to visit was her mother
’s house. She pulled up the hood of her jacket and kicked the pebble along with her, focusing all her attention on it, trying not to think about what was to come. Her childhood home had been a happy one, but it was the last place she’d seen her mother alive. The devil himself had come for her that night and taken her from her home, leaving Freya all alone.

She leaned against the freshly painted garden gate. The front door was still the same, pretty and painted red with a bell, but her mother
’s nets had gone, replaced by smart beige curtains hanging elegantly in the latticed windows. The last good memory she had was here, playing in the garden in the summer, running around with Craig on the grass. The front door opened and her mother had emerged, beautiful and smiling with lemonade for them both.

Freya pulled her hood around her tighter as the wind picked up, blowing leaves into the pristine garden. She glanced towards the road leading out of the village and anxiously chewed her lip. It would still be possible to get out, although she
’d get very wet in the process.

Freya closed her eyes and conjured the image of her mum again, smiling and happy and the urge to flee went away. Maybe she should focus on the good to try and get through this? Her life had been so shitty it was easy to forget that it hadn
’t always been awful. She evoked more happy memories, scenes from her childhood, mainly involving her mum and Craig and she smiled.

A flash of colour to her right drew her attention from the house and she went rigid when she saw a figure approaching dressed in a fluorescent jacket, the type worn by the police. Fear engulfed her as she was taken right back into that tunnel in Glasgow under the railway arches, PC Docherty running at her, the ensuing pain
…

Freya turned and ran where instinct guided her, towards the castle, the haven of her childhood. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the figure pursuing her. Despite his ungainly uniform he was gaining on her quickly. It was at that moment the heavens finally decided to open and icy rain soaked her thick clothes, slowing her down. She stumbled as the ground became slippery underfoot, losing valuable seconds and chancing another glance over her shoulder she saw the figure was even closer. The village ebbed away until she was back in that stinking tunnel, feeling as though she was trapped underground, her worst nightmare. Docherty was going to catch her.

There was a blur of colour and she was pushed face down to the ground but she kicked out, catching the man in the chest and knocking him backwards. She was quick to get back to her feet and continued on towards the castle.

“
Stop, Police,” she heard the figure yell but she ignored him and carried on, sprinting so hard her lungs burned with the effort. As she got closer she started to slow. After years of abusing her body she was in poor shape. Her legs went weak and her head spun. She’d almost made it to the fence when she was slammed into it, hands wrenched behind her back, only this time she didn’t have the strength to fight back and she slumped to her knees with exhaustion. It was a relief when her hood was pulled back and the cold rain hit her face, cooling her burning skin.

“
Freya,” exclaimed a voice.

She found herself looking up into Craig
’s face. The rational part of her brain told her,
of course it’s Craig, Docherty’s locked up
, but he was in his fluorescent jacket and Freya couldn’t get past it. When she screamed he was so surprised he released her, watching as she scrambled over the fence and under the cover of the bakehouse, curling up in a corner and starting to rock, tears running down her face. Craig was stunned and unsure what to do. His instinct was to keep low, not to tower over her and after jumping the fence he slowly shuffled into the bakehouse. She cried out and tried to scramble further away, but her back was against the wall.

“
Freya it’s me, Craig.”

She didn
’t appear to recognise him, scared white face streaked with black make-up. He removed his jacket and cast it aside, so he was just in the all-black uniform.

“
Freya, look at me.”

This time when she looked, recognition filled her terrified green eyes.
“Craig?”

“
Yes Sweetheart, it’s me. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was you at the garden gate. I got a call about a prowler. It was the hood, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She shook herself and looked around, as though confused about where she was.
“I thought you were him.”

“
Who?”

She couldn
’t even bring herself to say his name. “No one.” Freya buried her face in her hands and started to softly weep, the fear draining from her, leaving her cold, tired and feeling stupid. What must he think of her?

“
It’s okay,” he said, daring to move closer. “You’re safe.”

“
I’m sorry,” she rasped. “You’re soaked through.”

“
It’s not the first time, living in this village.” He moved even closer and reached out to touch her hand.

She stared at his hand uncertainly before grasping it, grateful for how warm it felt and she started to cry harder. Craig sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Was it the jacket?” he said gently.

She nodded into his shoulder.

“Are you okay with me now?”

“
Yes,” she whimpered.

“
Who hurt you Freya?”

She was on the verge of confessing it all when his radio crackled into life, startling her, sending her back into that tunnel once more.

“False alarm,” he said into it before switching it off.

Freya shot to her feet, intending to flee back to the safety of her cottage, but her legs went out from under her and he caught her.

“Let’s get you home,” he said.

“
Glasgow?”

“
No, I mean your holiday let.”

“
I want to go home, I hate it here.”

“
I’m sorry but you’re stuck here for a few days. The road’s flooding.”

“
Great,” she said miserably.

“
Can you walk?”

“
I think so.”

Craig kept one arm around her waist as they left the shelter of the castle, both shivering uncontrollably, especially Craig, who
’d had to leave his coat behind.

They slipped and slid down the hill together, the force of the rain loosening the earth and creating a quagmire. When they finally reached the bottom a tall spindly figure wrapped in a quilted coat emerged from the curtain of rain.

“I see you’ve got the prowler. I hope you lock them up and throw away the key,” said the figure in a posh English accent, hooked nose sticking out from the hood of his coat, drops of water dripping off the end.

“
It wasn’t a prowler Toby, it was a misunderstanding,” said Craig through chattering teeth.

“
What do you mean?” he said, frowning at Freya suspiciously.

“
This is Freya Macalister and she grew up in your house. She was only taking a look.”

“
She’d no right, it’s my property…”

“
We’ll discuss it later. Right now we need to get out of this rain.”

As they spoke, Freya looked straight down the centre of the village and saw the road was swamped with water. It was still possible for vehicles to get through but it would be dicey. By tomorrow it would be completely impassable and they
’d be cut off.

Before Toby could object, Craig took Freya
’s arm and led her towards her cottage, both grateful to get out of the horrific weather. Freya tore off her sodden coat and gloves, struggling to keep her shaking hands still long enough to untie the laces of her boots. Craig found himself suffering the same dilemma but eventually they both managed it, creating their own puddles of water on the porch floor.

“
I’ll get some towels,” said Freya, breathless from the cold, glad she’d left the boiler on so the house was toasty and warm.

While he waited for her to return Craig pulled off his stab vest and belt, feeling lighter now the saturated equipment had been removed. Freya returned wrapped in a black dressing gown clutching a pile of towels, which she dumped in his arms.

“There’s more towels on the warmer in the bathroom. You can dry off up there. I’m afraid I don’t have any dry clothes for you but I can put something through the tumble dryer.”

“
Thanks. What happened to the make-up?”

“
It ran in the rain. I looked more like Alice Cooper than Lisbeth Salander.”

She looked younger, more vulnerable and he could clearly see the girl she used to be but he was a little disappointed, he liked her look. However it was another step forward. She
’d removed some of her armour.

Craig felt better after pulling off the cold wet clothes and basking in the heat of the towel warmer. As he slowly dried he studied the bathroom, fighting the urge to rummage through the medicine cabinet. One reason he became a police officer was because he was a nosy bugger, but if Freya found out it would be the end of her ever trusting him again so he resisted.

Wrapping himself up in the towels he picked up the bundle of dripping clothes and squeezed them out in the bath, deciding it would be best to keep on his underwear, even though it was uncomfortably damp.

“
Would you mind putting these through the dryer?” he said when he returned downstairs, handing her his black jumper, socks and combat trousers.

“
It’s the least I can do, it’s my fault you’re all wet,” she said, accepting them and shoving them into the dryer. “Hot chocolate?”