Scorpio's Lot (83 page)

‘Aren’t you seeking the
whereabouts of the entrance to this alleged underground site?’ Collins’ logic
was obvious.

‘Yes, of course. If it exists.’

~ * ~

Unbeknown
to Brigit O’Neill, the time was precisely nine pm when the door to her
underground cell was opened. Suddenly awoken by the sound of metal creaking on
rusted hinges, she sat up in bed to view her caller. She had slept briefly for
the past three hours and she immediately thought her evening meal was being
delivered. In the dim light a second person emerged through the entrance. With
no sign of a hand-held plate, she was beginning to sense this was to be no
ordinary visit.

Two men wearing black lumber
jackets and woollen balaclavas spoke briefly, issuing instructions for her to
put on a coat and follow them. The directive was blunt but non-threatening.
Wondering what fate lay before her, Brigit followed the men back along the same
passageway she had entered this underworld habitat. After about one hundred
metres of continuous walking, the distinctive musty smell that had greeted her
on arrival was again conspicuously offensive. Brigit peered across at the side
recesses that still contained the remains of carefully stacked skulls and a
penetrating dampness seeping through from the surface. This end of the
subterranean network was distinctly unpleasant.

Blindfolded on exit, Brigit could
hear the sound of an awaiting car purring in the immediate vicinity. Despite
her darkened hood she was aware it was nightfall and the smell of fresh air
seemed like nectar from the gods. Ushered into the rear seat, she sat wedged
between the two lumber jackets and could sense that only the driver occupied
the front. The trip to an unknown destination was both dark and silent. No
words were uttered for the entire fifteen minutes. Brigit became unnerved by
her surroundings, for still no clue to her fate had emerged.

The car came to a gradual halt
but her captors remained seated, still motionless and unspoken. About one
minute of uncomfortable silence had transpired when suddenly the man to Brigit’s
right opened the door and abandoned his seat. He walked forward some twenty
paces from the front of the vehicle, surveyed his immediate surrounds and
returned. Maintaining his silence, he grabbed hold of Brigit’s arm and assisted
her from the car. Still blindfolded, she was led to where her abductor had
previously stopped to conduct his assessment. Satisfied the area provided
sufficient darkness, he instructed her to stand still and not remove her hood
for five minutes. The man then retreated back to the car for a hastily
departure.

~ * ~

Some
ten minutes later the same abductor retrieved a mobile phone from his side
pocket. He dialled the intended number and waited for the recipient to respond.

‘Hello.’

‘Mrs Helen O’Neill?’

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘Your daughter Brigit is alive.
You may collect her in Coxwold’s main street, but should you involve the
authorities then anticipate the consequences.’

‘What! Hello ... hello,’ Helen
called but no further words were forthcoming. The line had gone dead. Her
emotions were now in overdrive. Brigit was alive and her rescue would need to
be immediate. But was this a trap? Would they be leading her to Coxwold for all
the wrong reasons? Helens mind had become a mixture of jubilation and concern.

What’s best to do? she thought. I
can’t involve the police or Brigit’s life will be at risk. Think, think, she
kept repeating to herself. She knew she needed someone to accompany her, now,
with no delays. Time was of the essence and the winter night air would be
bitterly cold. The emotional outpour had brought a tear to Helen’s eye. She
decided to phone Tom Harrison, desperately hoping he would pick up the phone.

~ * ~

The
phone rang and Emily answered. ‘Emily Harrison,’ she said. Then I heard her
say, ‘That’s wonderfully news, I’ll fetch Tom immediately.’

‘It’s Helen,’ Em said, handing me
the phone. ‘Brigit’s been released.’

‘Hello, Helen, am I hearing
right?’

Helen went straight to the core
of matter. ‘I’ve just this minute had a phone call from Brigit’s abductors.
They’ve released her in the main street of Coxwold, but I’m under instructions
not to involve the police. Tom, you’re my only chance. Would you please come
with me right away to find Brigit?’

‘Of course, Helen. I’ll bring
Emily with me and we’ll pick you up in a few minutes.’

‘Thank you so much,’ she
acknowledged and hung up.

When we pulled into Helen’s
driveway she came running from the house. Panic-stricken, she jumped into the
back seat. I could see she had been crying. She looked a mess.

‘Helen, try and settle yourself
down,’ I said. ‘We’ll find Brigit very soon since Coxwold’s only a short
fifteen-minute run. Are you sure they said the main street?’

‘Yes!’

‘Coxwold’s a small place so
finding Brigit shouldn’t be too difficult,’ I said, trying to reassure her.

We had been travelling only a
short while when suddenly our car lights reflected the welcoming sign of the
small town. It was almost ten pm and Coxwold was predictably quiet. It was very
cold and the night breeze had strengthened. Helen’s concern seemed to be more
to do with the weather than Brigit’s physical condition. The unfavourable
climate would make it tough for anyone exposed to this winter chill.

Travelling slowly down the short
main street we observed the small collection of shops on either side. To be
expected, everything was closed, including Duncan’s corner pub and some convenience
store that coupled as a newsagent and Tattslotto outlet. It was virtually a
ghost town as if from a bygone era, and contrary to its welcoming sign, I
half-expected some dude to suddenly confront us and declare we were trespassing
on their hallowed community. Coxwold’s residents had retired for the evening
and there appeared to be no sign of life, except for a local service station
that was in the throws of closing shop. I decided to approach the proprietor
and drove in.

‘Excuse me. Have you seen a girl
of around twenty years walking the streets and perhaps wearing a plastered arm
in a sling?’

‘Yeah, I did see this person
about quarter of an hour ago. She just walked by looking a bit lost. Pretty
young thing,’ the proprietor claimed.

‘That sounds like Brigit. Which
way did she go?’ I asked, relieved to hear of her sighting.

‘In the direction of Pedley. Is
there a problem?’

‘She’s just been released
following a kidnapping and were desperately trying to find her,’ called Helen
anxiously.

‘Better find her quickly or else
she’ll be a candidate for hypothermia with this bloody weather. Would you like
some help?’ he offered.

‘That would be appreciated. A
further set of wheels can’t hurt.’

‘Have you alerted the police?’ he
questioned.

‘Not as yet. We’re just learnt of
her release and came here immediately, and besides, we were warned not to
contact the authorities. The girl’s name is Brigit and Helen here is her
mother. We have every intention of informing the police shortly,’ I responded.

Introductions were exchanged and
the proprietor, whose name was Peter, asked for one minute to lock up his
premises. He suggested we search either side of the main street and report back
at the service station in ten minutes.

I initially tried a side street
where lighting was exceptionally poor. Due to the thickly grouped row of
peppercorns and sheer darkness of the area, I deliberately drove slowly in hope
we could pick up some obscure figure looming from behind the trees. There was
nothing, for the street appeared lifeless.

Helen was becoming impatient. ‘Perhaps
Brigit’s walking back to Pedley.’

‘I doubt it. We would’ve seen her
driving into town.’

~ * ~

From
the other side of the main road Peter was surveying an equally dark street.
With the aid of a torch he constantly stopped to shine his beam of light along
the slightly recessed footpath. No person was to be seen. At the end of the
street he decided on a U-turn to examine the passenger’s side of this return
route. He had travelled a short distance when suddenly his torchlight caught
the reflection of a young female pedestrian, standing alone on the footpath and
looking bewildered. He stopped his car and called Brigit’s name. He was
surprised by the young girl’s response.

‘Go away! You people don’t give
up!’

‘I’m here to help you -’

‘Leave me alone!’ she yelled back
and started to walk away from the intrusive light.

‘But your mother is here and I’m
helping them to find you.’

‘Where is she? I can’t see her!
You’ll try any trick to get me into your car!’

‘I mean you no harm.’

Peter stepped from his car but
his attempt to help Brigit was futile. She started running away from the
stranger, for in her confused state no one was to be trusted. She desperately
sought a familiar face. Continuing down the side street, she eventually reached
a group of shops in the hope that someone would be still up and about.
Unfortunately for Brigit her hopes were dashed, as the main road bore no sign
of life. She had temporarily escaped the clutches of this unknown man, but for
how long could she survive this chase and wretched weather? Her ears and nose
began to burn from the icy air. Her hands and feet were now numb and she was in
desperate need of warmth. She had once again blended back into the dark obscure
night.

Peter returned to his premises,
hoping the three visitors were waiting. Their car was not in sight and it was
obvious they were still surveying the now wrong side of town. He continued to
wait at the service station. Due to Coxwold being situated in a gully, a mist
had now started to descend and spread its cloud of obscurity. This was not the
night to have a fog to contend with. So bloody typical at this time of year,
thought Peter. Headlights now appeared from around the corner, the car slowing
to a halt beside the proprietor.

~ * ~

The
proprietor was waiting for us at the service station.

‘I saw Brigit,’ he said, ‘but she
ran away thinking I was some sort of threat.’

‘Is she all right?’ Helen could
barely contain herself.

‘Hard to tell, but she looked
cold and confused,’ offered Peter.

‘We’ll find her very soon, Helen,’
said Emily in support.

‘Okay, let’s keep moving and
search the other side of town,’ I insisted, not wanting to hang around
contemplating what might have been.

The two cars drove up and down the
side streets, and with the ever-present drifting fog the task had become more
difficult. A lone figure was suddenly detected with assistance from Peter’s
torch, beaming its light source from the second car. We immediately stopped to
inspect this person more closely, but unfortunately the light produced an
outline of some male individual walking his two greyhounds. The man appeared
uneasy with all this sudden attention and immediately increased his pace,
obviously fearing he may be subjected to a mugging.

We had progressed to a further
side street where our surveillance was again set amidst a dark and gloomy
backdrop. Back and forth we travelled, occasionally stopping, when suddenly
Peter’s light caught the reflection of someone peering from behind a winter-stripped
golden ash. The shadowy figure ran to the next tree, possibly out of fear with
the presence of two vehicles and a spotlight seemingly focused on her every
move.

The human outline was
distinctively female and it warranted further examination. We all abandoned our
respective vehicles and set out on foot to gain a closer look. The torch picked
up movement from four trees down. Helen was beside herself with anxiety and
could not be detained any longer. She called out to the unknown person from around
fifty metres away.