Something Wicked (33 page)

Lara didn’t flinch, her voice hoarse. ‘I’m nothing to do with you.’

Andrew couldn’t help but wish his father’s name had been Mr Knownothing. It would have saved him all of this.

He peered around the circle, spotting Elaine for the first time. Her face was bowed, lips moving in a silent prayer or chant, not looking at her son. It was hard to reconcile that with the
mother who was apparently desperate to find him, but then she was frantic for another reason: she knew Nicholas was coming for them.

Andrew tried to wriggle his fingers and suddenly someone was pulling him to his feet as the circle closed tighter. He tried to struggle but whoever had him was bigger and stronger than he was.
As he flailed, the sharpened edge of a blade appeared next to his windpipe.

‘Be sensible,’ a male voice whispered.

Andrew straightened, allowing himself to be held. Next to him, other hooded figures had Lara and Nicholas too, blades at their necks. Jenny was still at Richard’s feet, sitting perfectly
calmly. The person with the knife to Andrew’s throat was whispering in a strange monotonous tongue, the words barely comprehensible.

Richard raised his arms higher. ‘After the interruption of our previous ritual, we no longer have eighteen members to complete the circle.’ He used his knife to indicate the trees
around the rim. ‘But we do have the three sacred pillars – and three young people to offer our Father.’

He dragged Jenny to her feet by her neck as Lara and Nicholas were yanked backwards towards the edges of the circle. Richard pointed his knife in Andrew’s direction.

‘And our Hunter can watch.’

Lara was biting and kicking but neither Jenny nor Nicholas were fighting. They had only been dragged a couple of metres when there was a loud gasp.

Everybody stopped and turned. Halfway down the slope a single figure stood, arms by his side, freezing breath disappearing into the atmosphere.

It was Stewart Deacon.

Andrew thought he’d seen a familiar vehicle in his rear-view mirror but assumed he’d been mistaken when it didn’t follow them into the car park at the
edge of the woods. Now Deacon waited a little above them standing side-on, staring between the hooded figures, plus Lara, Jenny and Nicholas. His eyes practically leapt out of his head when he
spotted Andrew.

‘Who are you?’ Richard asked.

Deacon stepped forward, eyes twitching towards Andrew.

‘I was, er, following him. He’s caused me a lot of problems.’

His voice was trembling, the brash confident image of the man with the knuckle-duster who burst into Andrew’s flat long gone – exactly as his wife said he acted when he wasn’t
the biggest dog in the kennel. The two remaining hooded members of the group took a few steps in Deacon’s direction. He flinched, turning in a semicircle as if there was somebody behind
him.

There wasn’t.

The figures kept moving towards him, no one daring to speak. It was only when the knives flashed from their pockets that Deacon came to his senses. At first he recoiled as if to escape but when
his pursuers started to run, he stumbled backwards, reaching into his coat and pulling out a pistol.

Instantly, the atmosphere changed. The two men with knives began backing away, weapons disappearing into their pockets. The knife at Andrew’s neck disappeared, with the hand holding onto
his arm loosening. Lara had stopped fighting too, as everyone watched the man with the gun.

Deacon’s arm was wavering, the pistol aimed somewhere in the middle of Andrew and Richard. He clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

‘What’s your name?’ Richard asked, tone slightly lighter, though still firm.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘But you’re here for Mr Hunter?’

‘I suppose.’

‘And he’s wronged you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have no idea who you are but I can see that you’re trembling, that you’re scared. You didn’t mean to come here tonight. You can walk away and pretend that you
didn’t see anything.’

Deacon’s eyes flicked across until he was watching Andrew, but it was hard to read anything beyond the fear. Andrew tried to piece it all together. Violet Deacon had come to see them the
previous day, saying she wanted to divorce her husband. He’d either found out, or she’d told him. He must have followed Andrew to the student halls, no doubt wondering what on earth was
going on as he trailed them towards the woods. What was clear was that he had a gun.

Silently, Andrew willed him to get help or to use the gun and shoot Richard. Do whatever the hell he had to. As long as he saved Jenny, he could do whatever he wanted. Richard still had an arm
across Jenny’s chest, the knife close to her throat.

Surely anyone, even Stewart Deacon, could figure out who the good guys were?

Deacon looked away again, focusing on Richard. ‘Who are you?’

‘How about we agree not to ask each other that? You forget us and we’ll forget you? Deal?’

Deacon took two steps backwards, turned, stumbled, corrected himself and then continued backing away towards the rim of the circle. ‘Deal.’

In a flash, the gun was back in his pocket and he was running for all he was worth.

Nobody moved. One second, two seconds, five seconds. Ten. Then Richard Carr nodded to the two hooded figures and they set off after him, knives at the ready.

Some truce that was.

The fingers tightened around Andrew’s wrist again as he was thrust to the ground. Meanwhile, Lara, Jenny and Nicholas were each pulled to one of the three respective trees. Andrew tried to
catch Jenny’s eye but she was watching the others. He wondered if she’d been drugged because she seemed so unbothered. Next to Richard Carr, she looked like a child. There was a large
tear in her tights, with scuffs of dirt on her hands and face. She didn’t look hurt but didn’t seem scared either.

Then it struck him: she didn’t get frightened. Whether it was a vicious, hissing cat, monsters under the bed, or standing in front of Stewart Deacon’s revving car, she didn’t
care. Her old teacher thought she had a problem with empathy for others but it wasn’t that at all, or at least it wasn’t
just
that. She didn’t know what being scared meant.
That made it hard for her to sympathise with people because she didn’t understand what they were going through. He wondered if she even knew the danger she was in.

Andrew watched as Richard made her stand against the tree, knife against her ribs. He twisted to see Nicholas and Lara in a similar position, arms behind their backs, knives to their throats.
Over the brow of the slope, the two hooded figures returned, each out of breath, arms held out to say they hadn’t caught Deacon. Andrew heard them come to a halt behind him, standing and
whispering.

Above, Richard was triumphant, one hand holding Jenny by the scruff of the neck, the other clutching the knife.

‘Oh Father, forgive us for we have sinned.’

He lurched into a language Andrew didn’t understand, the murmur growing as the other five joined in. It was a strange mix of chanting and singing, with an underlying rhythm to the words.
Andrew didn’t know if he was imagining it but the air felt heavier, colder. He tried to breathe but there was nothing there. The mantra continued to build until it seemed as if it was
everywhere, not just six people in a circle but six hundred in front, behind, above and below. The words were everywhere.

‘
. . . I saw things too that I couldn’t explain. You think it’s all chanting and being immature but there’s more to it than that. Words are powerful . .
.
’

Andrew forced his head up, trying to watch Jenny, but it was so much effort, as if someone was standing on his shoulders, forcing him into the ground. He continued to fight until he could see
Richard. The robed man’s eyes had rolled back into his head, the whites burning bright under the moonlight, mouth bobbing open and closed to the tempo of the chant.

Then he raised the knife.

‘Stop.’

The man’s voice boomed across the clearing and, in a rush of icy air, everything felt normal again. Andrew was blinking rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts, wondering if he’d
imagined what had just happened.

Standing at the top of the circle was Stewart Deacon, his gun pointing directly at Richard Carr.

Richard’s eyes were facing the front, hands out to the side, Jenny standing unaided.

Deacon’s arm was steady this time. ‘Drop the knife.’ Richard did as he was told.

‘And the rest of you.’

Around the rim, there was the sound of metal thwack- ing into the ground. Three more blades landed behind Andrew.

‘I want you all to lie down, else I’m going to use this.’

There was the same confidence in Deacon’s voice as there had been in Andrew’s flat. Richard fell to his
knees, hands behind his head. Andrew turned, expecting the five figures to have done the same but, instead, four of them were bolting for the trees. The only one who remained was close to Lara:
Elaine Carr. Her hood was now down as she howled after the people who were running.

Lara was bobbing awkwardly, unable to use her hands to steady herself.

‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ Deacon was calling to Lara, apparently unconcerned by the escaping cloaked figures.

She didn’t speak but started to waver her way down the slope towards Andrew, who pushed himself up. The ties were still cutting into his wrists and he was finding it awkward to balance as
he staggered to his feet. Nicholas appeared by his side, tossing his cable ties to the floor. Poking through the glove of where his three fingers would have once been was a thin, sharp blade. He
skirted behind Andrew and sliced through the binds and then did the same to Lara.

Andrew’s skin was raw but he couldn’t stop looking at the blade. ‘Why didn’t you use that earlier?’ he whispered.

Nicholas didn’t reply, strolling forward, up the gentle bank towards his father. Jenny was now sitting on the floor, watching everything.

Deacon was still aiming the gun at Richard’s head but his eyes kept darting towards Nicholas.

‘Hey, kid, what are you doing?’

Nicholas continued walking.

‘Kid, stop. I’m going to call the police.’

Nicholas halted a couple of metres short of his father. ‘You didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you?’

Richard didn’t respond as his son kicked the knife further away.

‘Where’s your Father now?’ Nicholas said.

Deacon was floundering, unsure where to look. ‘Kid, shut it, I’m going to—’

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Nicholas lunged forward and grabbed the pistol from his grasp. In a flash, he had thrown it deep into the darkness of the woods. Deacon
was so shocked, he stumbled backwards, ending on his backside staring up.

‘If your gun was genuine, there was no way you’d have been able to hold it so steady for so long. Real ones are heavy.’

Deacon didn’t argue, scrambling backwards. Only one person was now in charge of the situation and it wasn’t him.

Andrew turned at the sound of scuffed feet, watching as Elaine slipped down the slope, eyes on her son.

‘Nicholas, sweetie, you don’t have to do this. We can all go home and go back to the way it used to be.’

Richard turned to Nicholas, arms out wide. ‘Son . . .’ Nicholas either didn’t hear them, or didn’t care. He turned to his father, face blank. He opened his mouth –
‘
Ele exigiu um sacrifício
’ – and then slashed his arm forward, the blade in the centre of his hand slicing straight across his father’s windpipe.

Andrew sat in his office chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the silence. Well, relative silence. The sounds of a Manchester morning rippled in the background: cars beeping
their way around the streets, the clatter of foot-steps on pavements.

At least it was better than the sound of twigs cracking in the freezing night.

His eyes popped open as he heard someone climbing the stairs and then Jenny was in the doorway, rosy cheeks, broad smile and a box of teabags in her hand.

‘We’re almost out,’ she said.

She began to fuss with the kettle in the far corner, humming under her breath.

‘Jen.’

‘What?’

‘Can we have a chat?’

‘Sure, I just—’

‘Before you brew up.’

She twisted in a smiling flurry of flared skirt, crossing the room to perch on his desk. ‘You all right?’

‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’

‘I’m fine.’

He couldn’t believe she was grinning. ‘This job isn’t supposed to be dangerous. You shouldn’t be tied up and shouldn’t spend an entire day being questioned by the
police.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I think we should go our separate ways. It’s one thing for me to endanger myself, another one entirely to put someone else at risk.’

She scrunched her lips together. ‘Pfft.’

‘And that’s not a good enough reason for this to continue.’

‘I’m fine!’

‘But you might not have been.’

Jenny spun around again, turning her back to him and heading for the corner. ‘I’ll put a sugar in your tea if you’re going to be so grumpy. I’m all right, you’re
all right: let’s get on with it.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘It really is.’

Andrew huffed out an annoyed sigh, not knowing what else to say. Apart from firing her, there wasn’t a lot else he could do. Not yet, anyway. Jenny was humming cheerily to herself again.
Life was perfectly normal, except that it wasn’t.

She spoke over her shoulder, still fiddling with the mugs in the corner. ‘Any word on the four who escaped?’

‘Not yet. The police said they’d let me know if and when they find them. They have the names from Elaine Carr. Hopefully it’ll only be a matter of time.’

‘What do you think will happen to Nicholas?’

‘His mental health is being assessed, so he’ll probably spend the rest of his life locked up one way or the other. It’s not as if he doesn’t have a case – his parents tried to kill him and chopped his fingers off.’

‘What about Lara?’

‘Who knows? One of my sources in the police told me that Nicholas took the blame for everything and said Lara didn’t know anything about it. She might not even be charged. I would
have called to fill you in last night but didn’t know what was going on. I was with the police for almost ten hours. There’s going to be a scandal because Richard was a councillor. No
one thinks there was any connection but it looks bad.’