The Taken (17 page)

Simon stopped, cursing slightly as he almost lost his shoe in the mud, leaning on Paul’s shoulder to retie it. “God, what an awful child.”

“That was really just the beginning. Until that point 164

she’d been using us to play. After that she began playing with us. Tricks, dangerous tricks, tricks that left you hurt and bruised and bleeding. It was fucking horrible. I would wake up at night almost not able to breathe.

Sometimes, she’d leave you alone for a month or so, and you’d just start to relax, and bang, she’d be back. Broken glass in your sandwich, or something like that. And we were all so scared of her, of what she was capable of, and what she knew we’d done, what evidence she had on us, that there was no way we were going to tell. Remember what it was like as a kid? Adults were part of a different world. They couldn’t do anything for us, not really.”

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.” Simon stared at Paul, wondering at his friend’s childhood.

“Yeah. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.” Simon could see Paul’s eyes, bright white in the darkness as he spoke. “And then one day she disappeared in a storm. Gone, just like magic. For a long time, I used to imagine her coming back to get me in the middle of the night, and then slowly the dreams faded and life went on. But I think what Mum said last night is true— the dead never really leave us. And now it seems that Melanie’s come back to get us, after all.”

Shaking his head, Simon turned his attention back to making his way over the wet ground. Ghosts didn’t exist. The idea was crazy, really crazy. “How far now?”

“Once we get over this ridge we should pretty much be free of the woods. Not far. A few hundred yards or so.”

After ten minutes or so, Simon’s thighs were burning with the exertion of scrambling up the muddy slope and his hands were filthy from where he’d stumbled 165

occasionally onto the ground, but at last, up ahead he could make out a break in the trees.

“We’re nearly out.” Paul nodded, and leaning forward, the wind seeming stronger even through the protection of the trees, they pushed themselves forward. Simon squinted against the rain. Surely the storm couldn’t be getting worse? And how the hell was the wind coming at them so fast? They weren’t out in the open. His feet slid slightly in the mud and he felt Paul grab his arm to steady him. He took three more steps forward before a gust of wind sent both of them tumbling backward, branches slapping at their skin as they fell through the trees.

“What the hell is going on?” Dragging himself back to his feet, Simon had to shout, and even then wasn’t sure that Paul could hear him. The wind was howling, dragging up the heavy wet leaves from the forest floor and launching them at the two men. It had gone from a breeze to a gale in seconds, and Simon grabbed Paul, pulling him behind an ancient oak tree to stop them from being thrown back the way they’d come. The weather roared at them, forcing them to huddle together.

Paul peered around the edge of the bark, his eyes wide. “Look! Look!” He jabbed one finger forward, pointing toward the edge of the wood, where the ground cleared into a field. Where they should have been walking the last stretch to Wiwy. Simon glanced around the other side of the trunk, his fingers gripping the bark. Just what the fuck was that? Blue light flashed and crackled through the last row of trees, dancing madly from one branch and twig to the next and back again. Was it some kind of electrical storm?

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How the hell was it happening just along the perimeter? Christ, he’d never seen anything like it. If it was some kind of lightning, wouldn’t the branches be burning?

Looking to his left and right, trying to shield his eyes from the battering wind and rain, he could see the same electricity running through all the trees in that last row, the blue lights bright in the gloom. Whatever it was, he didn’t fancy walking through it. Not with all this water around. Shit. If they were going to get out of the forest, they weren’t going to do it this way. Not without getting fried. Feeling the strength of the storm, he wasn’t even sure they would make it back to the pub. Beside him Paul’s face was lit up with dreadful wonder, and Simon shook him to get his attention.

“What do we do now?” He was shouting, but couldn’t hear his own words. Paul just stared at him.

“Is there a shelter near here we can get to?” He was screaming the words out, halfway through the sentence when the wind suddenly stopped, his words filling the silence. His face tingled with the sudden release from the attack on his skin. He stared at Paul, neither men needing the tree for support anymore, the rain just falling gently through the trees, the air still. Just what the hell was going on?

Cautiously stepping backward, Simon could see the blue crackle still running through the boundary trees. Despite the strange calm there was a palpable tension all around them. From somewhere behind him a giggle ran through the trees and both men spun round.

“Laura? Laura? Is that you?” Shadows seemed to dart through the trees and bushes around them, but there was no answer to Simon’s shout. The giggle came 167

again, but this time from a different direction. After a second it was matched by another, maybe a boy’s, and then another, higher and lighter. Younger.

Spinning round, Simon was sure he saw a flash of shoes and legs darting through the trees. And then a bare leg. Something and nothing. There but not there.

“What the fuck is going on?” Simon stared at Paul.

“Games.” Paul barely whispered the word, his eyes darting from tree to tree.

“She’s playing games.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think she’s going to let us leave the village, do you?”

Simon looked back at the electrified trees, and then stared back at the silent wood around them. “This is a really fucked up situation. Really fucked up.”

“Yes, it is. But I think we’d better try heading back to the pub. Maybe get to the Tucker place. That’s closer.” He stared at Simon, his eyes blank, and then into the waiting trees. “Let’s just hope we get there.”

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In the clearing there is perfect stillness, and despite the gray of the sky above, no water falls here. He lets out a sigh that shakes the trees and then sits down heavily on the dead trunk, which had fallen some time after his last visit to this place. Not that he’s sure how long that is. Time has little meaning for him. He just knows there have been other people, other ways, and long periods of dark slumber.

He rests his heavy head in his hands, the long leather coat creaking with the movement, and beneath his fingers feels the smooth ridges of his naked skull.

For a moment he shuts his eyes, enjoying the darkness. If only there was more of it. There had been peace in the darkness, he was sure. Beside him, the ground falls sharply away, declining steeply without warning, and below there is only a small ledge before the torrent of the river. He can hear its angry flow, just as he could that last time he was here. When he had given her the choice she expected. When he had saved her.

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Again he sighs, graying the grass beneath him. Within a day it will wither. And then no grass will grow in that patch again. He can feel the grown people in the woods, stumbling backward and forward trying to find their way out, but his storm would keep them in. He would keep them in until she was done with them.

Inside, in the vast empty spaces where universes could exist, he feels an ache.

She disturbs him. She disturbs everything. Slowly over the years she had suckled at his power until now, when he was no longer sure who commanded whom. She had wanted revenge and he had allowed it, not understanding the complicated, exhausting network of human emotions, so far away from his own existence, but hoping the satisfaction would dull her angry fire and let there be some peace again.

He can feel the children tingling on his skin, far away but with him. He can feel their discomfort and their joy and their unhappiness and wonders how that came to be. It used to be that he could barely feel them at all after he saved them. He would just carry them with him, inside. But then her voice, the first voice he could remember for such a very long time, had burst through. And then she’d become stronger. And then she’d wanted to play with the other children and it didn’t seem so much to allow, not for her, not at first.

But now she is bringing children into the in between and he can feel her pulling away from him. If he was capable of fear, he would be feeling it. The in between is his domain. It always has been. It always would be. The Catcher Man and the in between. As one.

Staring down at his heavy boots he listens to the river as it endlessly passes by. Perhaps it was a mistake to

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allow her to return. To interfere with things. Perhaps he should have kept the storm moving, seeking out the screams of the lost and the hurt and the nearly gone. He should have realized that to pause here would release too much power, power that a creature like Melanie would absorb and use. Maybe she had known it all along.

This was where they’d worshipped him all those years ago, begged him to bring children into the world with them, to make them catch. He remembered warmth then. Warm air and warm naked women on the forest floor. Then slowly they called for him less. And then as the years eroded everything but his name, they changed him. They put him in the storm and made him take children from the world. The change means nothing to him. But he knows he is tired. So very tired of existing. Of carrying the children and their pain.

He wonders if he will change again if they linger here much longer. He wonders how much Melanie has changed from lingering here. For a moment that could be a minute or a century he considers gathering them in and moving the storm on, leaving her business unfinished. But he is tired. And the stillness by the ravine is peaceful. Almost like the dark. And in that unsettled space inside him, he wonders if he still has the power to gather her in.

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Despite her protestations Crouch had poured her a brandy, and sipping it, Alex looked around the small pub at the many familiar faces. The landlord had opened up the double doors into the restaurant, and from her stool at the far side of the bar she could see to the back of it, where a couple of the older kids were dozing, their heads lolling against each other. Children had that wonderful way of dealing with shock. Sleep it off. She let the golden liquid slide down her throat. That would be nice. To be able to sleep it all off.

As soon as she had finished her potted history of what had happened to the vicar and Kay, Ada Rose had scurried into the kitchen to make sandwiches, and Alex smiled through her tiredness. Yes, they all had different ways of reacting. Some were just sitting quietly, holding hands; others had convened at the bar talking loudly and some even laughed. Shock was a funny thing. Emma Granville had taken all the younger children upstairs and was settling them in to sleep with 174

the help of Dr. Jones, and Alex had been glad to see him go, if only for a while. She didn’t like the way he’d looked at her. He could hear her clock ticking too. Well, he could spend his time worrying about calming Emma down for the next hour or two at least. Her need was more urgent than Alex’s.

There was a hum of conversation around her that she was too tired to focus on, and she knew people needed a few minutes to let the chill of reality sink in before they started with questions. She hadn’t mentioned Melanie Parr yet. Would she find out what that little girl had to do with all this?

Glancing around, she noticed the pinched faces as some of the villagers gazed out of the windows. A lot of the locals were spread out there in their isolated farm homes. Their families who were safe in the pub were right to be worried.

She was frightened for all of them, those inside and out.

The door from the kitchen swung open and Ada came through carrying two catering trays of sandwiches, which she deposited on the low table in front of the fire, and Alex called Crouch over again.

“Ring the bell, will you.”

When there was silence, she looked at Crouch, but he nodded her on and he was right to do it. She was more likely to get information out of the people than he was.

“I know it’s a shock to you that Kay and Reverend Barker are dead. God knows, it’s a horrible thing that’s happened to them, but our main focus until the police can get here has got to be trying to find Laura Chambers and little Peter Granville. Those of you, who like me have lived here all your lives, try and remember

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anywhere that might be a good place for someone to hide out. Any old barns or anything. They’ve obviously gone somewhere, and hopefully, since Laura was at the Granville’s this morning, they’re together. If the police get here soon, then we want to be able to give them as much help as possible when searching.”

Her voice sounded confident and she almost believed in it herself.

A murmur of agreement spread around the room, and Alex saw a couple of people taking sandwiches. It was a good sign. The shock was wearing off and was being helped by the promise of activity. The world always felt better with a plan of action.

A hand tentatively went up—it was Alice Moore, from the post office. She was sitting in the low chair next to Mary’s by the open fire, and she looked more fragile than she had when Alex and Simon had tried to use her phone that morning. But then, they were all changed from those few hours ago. “What is it, Alice?”

The older woman nervously chewed her bottom lip. “I know this probably isn’t important to you right now, but I can’t stop thinking about it.” She fiddled with the necklace that Alex was sure was a crucifix. “But what have you done with the … the bodies?”

A hush fell. Alex’s voice was firm. There was no easy way to put it. “We’ve left them where they are. We moved the vicar into the church and covered him, but Kay is still where we found her.”

“But that’s awful!” Alice glanced around her and her throat was working as she spoke, as if chewing on her distress. “Shouldn’t we take them somewhere?